


to have roses in december

by ebenroot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Childhood Sweethearts, M/M, Pushing Daisies AU, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, brief mention of animal/minor character death, but it's the bittersweet kind of fluff, detective!yurio, pie maker!victor, still a figure skater!yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenroot/pseuds/ebenroot
Summary: Victor makes pies for a living; for some reason, it’s the only thing he can cook without it spontaneously bursting into flames. He also has the ability of waking the dead with a touch of his finger, but he tries not to make a habit of that. Tries.--in which Victor reunites with his childhood love Yuuri in the most unconventional way possible, and Yuri suffers through their relationship along with them





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OTL
> 
> aaaaaahhhh I'm back and as I'm typing this note i realized that I've only had one week off from writing yoi OTL x2
> 
> thank you everyone that has become my friend and shared my other fic i really really really am thankful for it and i hope that you all like this new fic as well, since the show that this fic's AU is based on is in my all-time favorite shows ever ahhhhhh please enjoy OTL x3
> 
> [and here's some art too!!](http://sterndecorum.tumblr.com/post/154445020343/you-should-read-this-cute-af-pushing-daisies-au-by)

Victor Nikiforov - twenty-seven years, four months, two weeks, two days old – is a very selfish man. 

That is the most important thing to remember.

His day to day life follows a very meticulous routine. He wakes up, showers, feeds his poodle Makkachin, and heads to the pie shop. If he is lucky, he may be able to squeeze in a breakfast of granola, yogurt, or oatmeal that says its ‘rich in nutrients’, but has the consistency of wet cement.

Victor makes pies for a living; for some reason, it’s the only thing he can cook without it spontaneously bursting into flames. He also has the ability of waking the dead with a touch of his finger, but he tries not to make a habit of that. _Tries_.

“We have a job,” Yuri Plisetsky barks more than announces as he approaches the front counter one Wednesday afternoon. Out of the corner of his eye, Victor sees Mila has begun to wipe down a booth. Her hand moves in a distracted manner, a similar motion she always does whenever she’s eavesdropping on one of Victor and Yuri’s conversations, or Georgi talking with a date that will unfortunately and inevitably break up with him.

Victor leans forward on the surface of the counter as Yuri plops himself down on a stool with all the grace of a surly five-year old instead of a twenty-three-year-old detective.

“I’m still working,” Victor says with a smile, voice low from Mila’s ears.

“We _have_. a _job_ ,” Yuri repeats. His eyebrows are furrowed down tight, lips twisted in annoyance. Victor prods Yuri’s forehead.

“You’re going to get wrinkles making that face,” Victor sing-songs. “Do you want some coffee? I’ll get you coffee.” He goes to get the coffee.

Yuri scoffs, but he doesn’t object. He never does; its free coffee, why object to free stuff? Victor grabs a clean mug and a pot of coffee that has just finished brewing. He sets the mug in front of Yuri, tops it off, and watches him take a sip of the hot liquid straight black. When Victor turns away, Yuri quickly sneaks in a fistful of sugar cubes and creamers conveniently lying in arms reach.

Victor lets Yuri finish his coffee, then grabs him a slice of caramel pecan pie hot from the oven topped with ice cream. It’s funny watching Yuri try and eat Victor’s pies with a straight face. He tries so hard to not let the groans of how _delicious_ and _sweet_ the syrups and flavors and crust of the pie melting in his mouth slip past his lips. When he finishes, he wipes his mouth and his hands.

“It’s whatever. My grandfather’s is better,” Yuri always remarks. Victor never feels insulted with Yuri’s tone. It’s something you get used to and accept with ease, like Mondays being generally awful and understanding that you’re growing older with each passing second.

“Now, about the job-” Before Yuri can continue, someone else takes a stool next to Yuri and eagerly intrudes on the private detective’s space with a nudge of the arm.

“Job?” Phichit asks, “What job? Another case? What’s the scoop?”

Phichit is Victor’s other employee of the pie shop. Unlike Mila, who prefers to quietly eavesdrop from afar, Phichit likes to engage in conversation up close. Victor believes Phichit is one of those ‘pleasantly nosy’ types, those people you never can find it in yourself to say, ‘mind your own damn business’.

“This is between me and _Victor_ ,” Yuri growls out, annoyed.

“Come on~ we chit-chat here! Discuss things. Things that I _promise_ won’t show up on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook,” Phichit says with a nudge of Yuri’s shoulder. Having seen that Phichit just opened a window of opportunity, Mila abandons the table she has been cleaning for the last twenty minutes and takes the seat on Yuri’s other side.

“Is it another murder case?” she questions. Yuri looks ready to blow a gasket.

“These are supposed to be _private_ meetings,” Yuri explains.

“I’m just curious as to what a private investigator and a piemaker have in common,” Mila says with a sing-song tone and a twirl of her hair.

What the private investigator and the piemaker had in common was this:

 

Yuri Plisetsky – young ace investigator and heir to the Plisetsky Detective Agency – had become the only person ever to know of Victor’s secret. While he was in hot pursuit of a suspect of a murder case, the culprit tried to make their escape up the side of Victor’s shop with a ladder Victor forgot to bring back in.

Unfortunately, the ladder was in terrible condition and with extra weight added onto it, it was only a matter of time before a rung the culprit stepped on snapped in half, causing the culprit to fall and snap their neck on impact. 

Yuri had seen the culprit die. But before he could call the coroner, Victor came out to dump the trash and found the body lying next to his now broken ladder. Without noticing the rather small young man was behind the wall still watching, Victor had touched the culprit, not realizing he was already dead.

The culprit sprung back to life and screamed. Victor touched them again to silence them for good.

Yuri made his presence known immediately after, with a gun drawn on Victor and jaw just a little bit slack with confusion. After a back and forth debate of whether the suspect was truly dead in the first place, one call to the coroner, a few slices of pie and mugs of coffee, Yuri proposed a partnership. He would keep Victor’s secret, but in exchange, Victor would help him on his murder cases. After all, it was significantly easier to solve them if the victim could tell you who did it.

Victor agreed.

But, Mila and Phichit didn’t need to know that.

 

“Oi, Victor!” Yuri shouts, snapping Victor out of his thoughts and bringing him back to the now. “Let’s go! We don’t have time to waste,” Yuri says, wrestling himself from Mila’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. Victor gives a smile to his two employees.

“Watch the shop, okay?” he asks, moving around the counter to follow the young detective out. Mila and Phichit give him a pout, but Victor ignores it. It’s already difficult enough to keep them from knowing about the cases, he doesn’t want to imagine the whirlwind of questions from them if they find out what his _other_ job truly is.

“When are you going to fire them?” Yuri asks the second they’re out of the shop. Victor laughs.

“They’re good workers, why would I fire them?”

“They talk too much,” Yuri says, like it's a valid enough reason.

“But that’s what they’re supposed to do. You eat pie, they talk. It’s part of the whole, familial, loving experience,” Victor explains with a shrug of his shoulders and gets inside Yuri’s car. Yuri scoffs, climbing into the driver’s seat. “So,” Victor says, rubbing his hands together, “to the morgue?”

“To a funeral home,” Yuri corrects, starting the engine.

“Who’s the victim?”

“Some figure skater. His mother placed a _big_ reward for anyone who can help solve the crime,” Yuri says, reaching for his suitcase in the backseat for the needed information.

Victor believes that his happiness died with his childhood many years ago. The happiness that he wears on his face now is only a carefully crafted façade to keep himself from getting too close to loved ones he’s afraid of losing. He doesn’t know the identity, but just hearing that the victim is a male figure skater makes his mask crack by only a little.

“Where did he grow up?” Victor asks, out of curiosity.

“Does that matter?” Yuri answers and manages to get the case file. “His mother runs an inn out in a small town nearby, so I guess that’s where he grew up.”

Victor’s smile strains to keep from falling. He takes the case file with trembling hands that Yuri doesn’t notice, and leans back into his seat as the car begins to move out into the street. Victor slips his thumb underneath the cover, ready to open it, when he pauses and thinks. 

What if it’s him? What if it’s the boy that gave Victor’s childhood life happiness? What if it’s his dearest-

Victor opens the folder and reads the name of the newly deceased.

 

**Yuuri Katsuki**

It feels like someone sucker-punched Victor in the stomach.

For one brief moment, Victor’s mask shatters.

 

* * *

 

Victor Nikiforov was nine years, one month, three days and two minutes old when he found out that he was not like normal little boys.

“It’s awful,” Yuuri Katsuki – a young rinkmate of Victor with round cheeks that always smelled of cookies and pork cutlet bowls – cried. In his arms, a small puppy squirmed around in his grasp. In front of them, the puppy’s father and Victor’s own dog, Makkachin, lied sprawled out on the ground, unmoving.

They were playing in a large field that stretched out as far as the eye can see, surrounded by white daisies that make them feel as if they were in their own personal fantasy land. But, their play date was cut short when Yuuri innocently threw a ball for Makkachin to fetch, and the ball rolled out into the street just as a semitruck came speeding by. 

Victor understood that accidents happen. He swallowed his sadness down and tried to remain calm, at least for the young boy that was sobbing and crying into the fur of the puppy Victor gifted two months prior. Victor got to his knees and reached out to Makkachin’s lifeless body, to give his curly fur one last pet.

And the moment that his fingers brushed against a curl, Victor swore he felt electricity spark underneath his skin.

Makkachin jumped up suddenly, panting and full of energy. Victor flailed backwards on his hands, watching as Makkachin dashed back into the field of daisies with the ball he died – he _was dead a moment ago, wasn’t he?_ – firmly held in his mouth. Victor looked to Yuuri when he realized the boy had stopped crying. Yuuri was looking at Victor as well, eyes rimmed with redness and wide in shock and amazement.

There was no answer for the question that was running through the both of their minds and hung on the edge of both their lips, nor was there understanding in how something that both children saw die before their eyes suddenly sprung back to life as if it never died in the first place.

Victor felt the hard gravel of the road underneath his knees. He felt a light breeze ghost over his face and blow through his long hair. He smelled the scent of daisies in the air. And though he often spent nights dreaming of being with the young boy named Yuuri Katsuki, Victor was positive this was no dream. 

He had the ability to bring the dead back to life.

 

* * *

 

“You know him?” Yuri asks as he parks the car and realizes that Victor has stared at the police report the entire drive. 

“I know him only when we were kids. . .he was my first love,” Victor admits. Even though Victor is older and knows that there’s more to love than what he understood as a child, he never felt happy with lovers of his past compared to his innocent love shared with his dearest Yuuri.

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “You were _kids_. What did you understand about love?” he questions as Victor closes the file.

“Back then, all I understood was that I really liked him and he really liked me. That was all that was important,” Victor says, a genuine smile coming back to his lips as he thinks about Yuuri when he was alive and framed with childhood wonder.

The facts were these:

Yuuri Katsuki, a figure skater and only twenty-five years of age, was found in a dumpster in an alleyway not too far from his rink where he practiced. The Yu-Topia Hot Springs Inn as well as Ice Castle put a combined reward in place for any leads to the murder case. As to who killed him and placed him in that dumpster, only Yuuri knows.

“Do you think I can do this by myself?” Victor asks after Yuri gets ‘special permission’ to the viewing room and the funeral director pockets a small wad of cash.

“Why?”

“Oh just. . .you know,” Victor shrugs, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Reasons.”

“You’re acting shifty,” Yuri says with a sneer.

“You always think I act shifty,” Victor says with a little smile and ruffles Yuri’s hair, to which he swats away Victor’s hand.

“Because you _are_ shifty,” Yuri accuses and Victor gives a little shrug.

“Just one minute?”

“That’s _my_ minute. It’s not for you to waste confessing your love for a guy you haven’t seen since you were kids,” Yuri says as they approach the door and his hand rests on the handle.

“It’s just to bring some closure. It won’t take up the entire minute,” Victor says with a wave of his hand. He then adds, “If I don’t have this moment by myself, I might be very emotionally distraught. . .I might need a hug afterwards.”

The look of sheer annoyance mixed with horror on Yuri’s face is as clear enough an answer can be.

Yuri huffs and opens the door to the viewing room. “One minute,” he scolds Victor, like _he_ is the younger of the duo.

“Right.”

“Sixty seconds.”

“I know.”

“You better fucking ask him who killed him.”

“I know.”

“Fine.”

The conversation is over with.

Victor steps inside the viewing room and gently closes the door shut behind him. His eyes go to the large portrait of Yuuri standing on a podium with flowers in his arms and a gold medal around his neck. Victor’s heart swells with pride and happiness; he remembers how Yuuri never believed he could become a great figure skater.

Victor is sad that he missed that moment where Yuuri felt on top of the world, even sadder that he wasn’t at his side. But, at least it happened.

Victor sucks in a breath when his eyes rest on the casket. Stupidly, he takes a minute to straighten his fringe and adjust the collar of his suit. Yuuri will only have one minute to speak with him, and will most likely be too frazzled and confused to even wonder if Victor looks handsome or not. But, the mild grooming makes Victor feel a little bit more calm, distracting him from the thoughts that he will now come face-to-face with his childhood love that is now dead in a casket.

He takes another minute to calm his breathing.

Victor approaches the casket, walking lightly as if he was afraid of waking someone. He runs his hand over the lid and lifts it. At once, the body of Yuuri Katsuki is bathed in golden sunlight.

He is _beautiful_.

Even in death, Yuuri is beautiful. He is both familiar and unknown to Victor, a man yet very much the boy Victor knew and fell deeply in love with. Yuuri is slimmer than when he was a child, but there’s still softness in his cheeks. He’s also wearing a horrible suit and necktie, but it’s a minor detractor. Victor sighs and shakes his head. Childhood love or not, gazing over a dead body is creepy. Yuri will barge in if Victor takes too long, so he might as well get to work.

Victor raises his hand and readies his watch. Where should he touch him? He looks at the full plumpness of Yuuri’s bottom lip and thinks there, but decides against it. Too forward. Maybe the cheek?

. . .Yes, the cheek.

Victor takes one last breath, before he gently caresses Yuuri’s face. Something sparks between his fingers and Yuuri’s skin, like lightning.

Yuuri’s eyes, big and brown and beautiful, flutter open in an instant. He blinks at Victor and Victor smiles, finding that the only thing he can do is stare and wait for Yuuri’s warm smile in return.

Instead, Yuuri grabs Victor by the tie, and promptly yanks him down so his head slams against the open coffin lid.

Victor _didn’t_ expect that.

“Ow, okay, okay _ouch_ ,” Victor groans, holding his head and stumbling backwards in a daze.  Yuuri clambers out of his coffin, frantic and confused and in search for something else to hit Victor upside the head with. He reaches for the nearest chair. 

“Yuuri! Yuuri, wait!” Victor says, holding out his hands in defense.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Yuuri questions, squinting his eyes and chair raised to beat the shit out of Victor.

“I-It’s Victor,” Victor introduces, less suave and more uncool, “Victor Nikiforov. Do you. . .do you remember me? We skated together when we were younger at Ice Castle. . .we always held hands when we went around in circles?”

Yuuri stares for a moment, finally lowering the chair. His eyes are at one moment confused, and then suddenly fill with remembrance, with _love_.

“ _Victor?_ ” Yuuri exhales, like it is the sweetest name to have ever passed his lips.

Victor feels weightless in his shoes.

Yuuri breaks out into a smile and his arms fly open in an embrace. Victor wants to hold out his arms and hug Yuuri back, kiss Yuuri, murmur how much he missed him and loves him against those lips now pink with color.

But he can’t.

Victor steps around Yuuri’s coffin as a barrier, holding out his hand to keep Yuuri away. Yuuri pauses, confused at Victor’s seemingly strange behavior.

“I -  yeah,” Victor momentarily stumbles with his words, knowing that Yuuri always had that effect on him. “It’s nice to see you. It’s _very_ nice to see you. Listen, do you understand what’s happening right now?”

“I understand that you’re acting strange. What’s wrong? You never stepped away to hug me before,” Yuuri says, bewildered and also a little bit sad. Yuuri folds his hands behind his back, biting his lower lip. “Um. . .I was asleep wasn't I? . . .Now that I think about it, I had the _weirdest_ dream,” Yuuri says with a little laugh. “I thought I was being strangled to death by a plastic bag.”

“You were. Strangled to death, that is,” Victor says. There’s no nice way to tell someone they’re dead. Usually Yuri is the one that delivers the blunt news while Victor gives emotional support from an untouchable distance.

Yuuri blinks. Then he looks around and realizes that he’s in a viewing room, with an open casket with no body inside. His face pales in alarm.

‘Oh’ is all Yuuri can say.

“So, I understand that this all might seem a little bit overwhelming,” Victor says with a forced smile, talking like he’s discussing the weather instead of the concept of life and death, “but you basically have a minute left alive. Maybe a little bit less, actually?”

“A minute? What happens after the minute? Do I just die. . .again?” Yuuri asks.

“No. . .yes? . . .It’s complicated?” Victor doesn’t know what to say to make that worried expression go away in Yuuri’s eyes. It’s understandable; Yuuri is scared, rudely brought back into the world of the living, and Victor is doing a shitty job explaining the how’s and why’s. Victor thinks that it would be a little bit better on Yuuri if he has a quick hug. But, he remains rooted where he stands and forces that instinct to comfort his love back down in his chest.

“Well,” Yuuri begins, unsure, “what am I supposed to do?”

“You can tell me who killed you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure justice is served,” Victor says, meaning every word.

Yuuri smiles. “You’ve always been so reliable, Victor,” Yuuri says with such fondness. Victor considers himself a flake and the type of person that has to make a conscious decision to put pants on after he wakes up, but okay.

Yuuri sighs. “Well. . .I don’t really know who killed me. I mean, all I remember was leaving the rink and it started to rain. So, when I searched through my duffle bag for my umbrella, I realized that I grabbed the wrong one, like a total idiot. So then, I had to turn around and go back and-”

And unfortunately, Yuuri never returned to the ice rink.

There’s a sudden flurry of knocks at the door and it makes them both jump. “Oi, hurry up you geezer!” Yuri snaps through the door. Victor sighs.

“Just a second!” Victor shouts back. That might not have been the best phrase to use, since now Yuuri has a sudden panicked look on his face.

“Is my minute up?” Yuuri asks. Victor feels his heart ache.

“I’m sorry.”

Victor’s seen the expression that flitters over Yuuri’s face now from past clients. It’s an expression that says ‘huh, you never really know how nice it is to be alive again until you’re already dead’. It’s confusion and sadness and acceptance all mixed into one. It made Victor feel pity for the other clients, but with Yuuri, it just fills him with despair.

“Well. . .I’m happy that the last person I saw was you,” Yuuri says with a smile. “I’ve missed you for so long, Victor.”

Victor is momentarily overwhelmed. “I missed you too. I never. . .I never stopped thinking about you.”

“I didn’t either. . .Vitya.”

They take a moment they really can’t spare to just stare at each other. Yuuri laughs a quiet chuckle.

“You know, you were my first kiss,” he tells Victor and averts his eyes. An unspoken question looms in the air, if Victor is willing to be Yuuri’s last kiss. The request is romantic. It’s also morbid, maybe a little weird, but Victor honestly can’t judge.

He steps around the coffin and approaches Yuuri, keeping himself a safe distance. Yuuri looks up at him, eyes sparkling and filled with such life. They search Victor’s eyes momentarily for some sort of resolution, like a dowsing rod, like he’s always done ever since they were children.

Whatever the question is, he must have found the answer. Peace and love fills Yuuri’s eyes and make them sparkle more, before he closes his eyes and leans forward with lips waiting for Victor’s. Yuuri’s time is almost up; Victor has no other choice.

He leans forward as well, but only leans in so far. Victor realizes that his body won’t allow him to move in any closer than he already is. Or rather, that’s the excuse that he comes up with for why he isn’t moving. Victor knows the consequences of keeping someone dead alive past their time. The phase ‘having your cake and eating it too’ rarely applies to Victor Nikiforov.

And yet. . .Yuuri is standing here before him, alive. Back in _his_ life and Victor in Yuuri’s.

Maybe there was never truly a decision to make in the first place.

Victor stands up straight and looks at his watch. The minute is over.

Yuuri’s eyebrows furrow and his lips pucker to kiss the air. “Vitya?” he asks, red filling his cheeks. Victor smiles; so _cute_.

Victor quietly steps back and opens the door just a smidge. Yuri is leaning against the wall with his back to the door, quietly seething in irritation for Victor taking so long to get their needed information. For a split second, Victor feels relief. But, he knows that he needs to act quickly.

He closes the door shut and turns to Yuuri, still waiting for his kiss goodbye.

“Yuuri,” Victor says in a hushed whisper and Yuuri’s eyes open. Victor smiles. “We’re leaving together, okay?”

Yuuri blinks. “Don’t you have to-”

“You don’t need to. It’s a part of that ‘complicated’ thing I was telling you earlier,” Victor says with a little chuckle, hoping Yuuri just rolls with it.

He does.

Yuuri smiles. “Well, I’d like that. A lot,” he admits. Victor shakes his head, looking to the open coffin.

“Climb back in,” he instructs with a gesture of his hand and Yuuri raises an eyebrow. He complies with Victor’s request after a few seconds and gets back in, awkwardly folding his arms over his chest as Victor looks down over him. “I promise I’ll come and get you out as soon as I can,” Victor tells Yuuri.

Yuuri gives Victor a smile that is filled with nerves and excitement. “Okay. I’ll just. . .be here,” Yuuri says, glancing around the soft crushed velvet interior of his coffin. Victor gives a quick nod of his head, and gently lowers the lid of the coffin. He sucks in a breath, turning to look over his shoulder, and straightens his tie. Act quick.

Victor exits the viewing room and reaches an arm around Yuri still leaning against the wall, briskly walking them towards the front door. Yuri stumbles over his feet to keep up with Victor’s fast-paced strides, shooting the older man a glare.

“Why the hell are we _rushing?_ You mind letting me _walk?_ ” Yuri snaps and Victor smiles.

“He didn’t know. Time is money, right? Hey, can you just drop by the shop and tell Mila and Phichit to close early for lunch? I’ll be back up there shortly, I just-”

“What did you do?” Yuri asks, patronizing.

“I didn’t do anything~” Victor drawls. He quickens his pace even more and hurries Yuri out the front door of the funeral home. “I’m just going to stay for the service. You know, since he was my first love and everything. Just feeling a little sentimental, nostalgic-”

“Pathetic because you’re obsessing over a dead guy?” Yuri asks. He’s watching for any telling signs that Victor is lying. Fortunately, Victor considers himself a master of the craft.

“I’ll call you when I’m done,” Victor says with a wink. Yuri glares at him for a few moments, then shoves his hands into the pockets of his blazer and clicks his tongue.

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbles, done with arguing with Victor for the moment, and continues down the steps to his car. Victor lets out a sigh that he didn’t know he was holding in, and steps back inside the funeral home to retrieve his childhood love.

Only, when Victor enters the viewing room again, slipping his coat off his shoulders to shroud Yuuri in, he pauses.

The casket, with a very much alive Yuuri Katsuki still inside, is gone.

Victor feels his stomach drop.

“Uh, excuse me?” Victor asks, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest staff person he comes across. He juts a thumb towards the empty viewing room, “Where did the casket of that figure skater go?”

The funeral staff blinks, not understanding why this question is being asked in the first place. “It’s being lowered into the ground-” Victor is already running out the front door, down the steps and around the funeral home. A hearse is pulling out of the driveway and is making its way down the dirt road up the grassy hill.

Victor gives chase immediately.

 

* * *

 

Victor Nikiforov was nine years, three months, three weeks, and three days old when he discovered there was more to his gift than he realized. He hasn’t touch Makkachin since that fateful day, too afraid of the mere thought and too confused by the mechanics and morality of the situation. He was only nine, and the philosophy of life after death was a very heavy subject. 

Besides, he had more important things to think about.

Victor was in love with Yuuri Katsuki. He admitted as much one night while they skated together around the rink of Ice Castle, mitten-clad hands tightly locked together.

“I love you,” Victor told the boy. His definition of love was ‘someone you really really _really_ enjoy holding hands with and feeling instantly better when you see them smile’.

“Oh,” Yuuri responded and paused. “Okay,” he said, and paused again. Eventually, pink filled his round cheeks. “I love you too,” he said, quiet and filled with innocence. His definition of love was just as mutual.

It was the best day of Victor and Yuuri’s young life.

But life is not without its worse days.

Victor’s mother, who was very kind and had a penchant for crème filled sponge cakes, died of asphyxiation one Tuesday afternoon, just before Victor could come downstairs from his bedroom ready for his playdate with Yuuri at Ice Castle. The death was not instantaneous, but it was quick.

He found her on the floor of the kitchen, fingers still covered in the delectable treat that ended up taking her life. Victor approached her slowly and with caution, while Makkachin watched from the comfort of his bed, the situation all too familiar.

Victor didn’t think when he gently prodded his mother’s cheek and watched life spark beneath her skin once more. Victor leaned out of her way as she jumped up and swallowed down the piece of sponge cake she choked to death on. She blinked, then turned to look at her son who was watching and waiting with baited breath. Then, she smiled.

“I always eat those things too quickly,” she admitted with a bashful smile and got to her feet. “Must have slipped. Clumsy me,” she giggles. Victor smiled back at her, relieved.

This gift of his so far had done no harm to him. Even if he didn’t understand the why’s and the how’s of the matter, he had his dog and his mother and Yuuri. That was all that mattered.

The doorbell rang and Victor jumped. He glanced at the clock in the hall, finding it to be one minute left till the clock stroke two. “I-I’ll get it!” Victor said with a big smile and rushed to the door in large strides. He threw the door open and was greeted with Yuuri’s bright smile and flushed cheeks. Victor smiled back, just as warm, and looked to Yuuri’s father who gave him a nod of the head.

“I’ll pick you two up after I leave work, okay? You two have fun and take care of each other, understand?” Yuuri’s father said. The few seconds of being without Yuuri’s touch proved to be too great for Victor to handle, and he crossed the threshold to greet Yuuri in a warm hug that the boy reciprocated with just as much eagerness.

“Okay!” Victor chirped and Yuuri’s father grinned. With a wave of the hand and a ruffle of both Yuuri and Victor’s hair, Yuuri’s father turned on his heel and began to walk down the path to his small car.

“Bye, Dad!” Yuuri called out from Victor’s grasp, waving his hand. Yuuri’s father turned and waved.

“Bye! Love you!” he chirped. From the entryway, Victor heard the grandfather clock chime at the stroke of the new hour.

Yuuri’s father suddenly clutched the front of his chest and his body went rigid. The children froze in horror as they watched the older man fall backwards with a heavy thud onto the green grass of the Nikiforov’s front lawn, eerily still.

Yuuri pushed out of Victor’s embrace and dropped his bag as he ran to his father’s body, falling to his knees. Victor was still, and stared with wide eyes. He only moved when he heard his mother give a shocked gasp, suddenly feeling wary around her as she stepped out the door and rushed to Yuuri begging and crying for his father to wake up. She turned to look at Victor, hands on Yuuri’s small shoulders.

“Call the police!” she shouted and Victor finally found the energy to move. He ran to the phone in the living room and dialed the emergency number, trying to explain the situation as his voice broke and struggled to keep calm.

Victor learned the second aspect of his gift, that it was a gift that could give life and take it away. Victor can only keep the dead alive for one minute, not a second more. If he did, then someone else had to die. He supposed that the only way to extend someone’s life was to take the life of another. For Victor’s mother to continue to live, Yuuri’s father took her place.

It was Victor’s fault that his dear Yuuri was now fatherless.

That one thought plagued Victor’s mind for the rest of the day and well into the night, and would continue to be in his head for the next seventeen years.

Long after the paramedics came to take Yuuri’s father away and Yuuri’s mother took her distraught son back home, Victor lied awake in bed staring at the ceiling. He fiddled with his hands resting over his stomach, and chewed on his bottom lip. Victor tried to push the guilt out of his head. He tried to sink more into the mattress of his bed as if it would help him escape the weight of this outcome of events.

There was no way for Victor to know what would happen. It was out of his control. He tried to rationalize it anyway that he could, but no answer made him feel any less responsible.

Victor’s bedroom door opened, and his mother peeked her head inside.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. Victor gave a weak smile.

“Yes,” he said, when it sounded like ‘no’. His mother came inside, and sat beside him.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked. Victor felt his hands itch to hold his mother’s hand, for something warm to squeeze instead of the duvets of his bed.

He shook his head ‘no’.

Victor had to learn there was one final rule about touching dead things and bringing them back to life. This rule was the most devastating for Victor to find out.

His mother gave a small smile. “We’ll talk in the morning?” she suggested and Victor gave a shrug of his shoulders. She hummed. “Try to get some sleep. . .I love you, Vitenka,” she said, voice the softest of whispers and kissed his cheek.

It happened as suddenly as Yuuri's father collapsed to the ground hours earlier. His mother went rigid beside him and she slumped backward with one movement, collapsing onto the floor with a heavy thud. Victor’s eyes widened and he got down beside her immediately, his heart beating rapid with fear and panic. He grabbed her hand, cold and stiff in his grasp, and waited for her eyes to spark open filled with life like before.

Her eyes never did.

Touch a dead thing once, and it came back to life.

Keep a dead thing alive past one minute, and something else had to die in its place.

Touch a dead thing again, and it stayed dead.

Forever.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, excuse me!” Victor shouts to the graveyard workers about ready to sling some dirt and bury Yuuri alive. Both men turn as Victor points to a truck that is now rolling quickly down the road. 

“Is that your truck?” he asks, pretending to be concerned when he is the one that broke the window open and took the breaks off.

The men curse aloud and drop their shovels, both running after their runaway vehicle and leaving Victor alone with Yuuri. Victor checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re a good distance away, before he falls to his knees and lifts the lid back open.

Yuuri winces from the sudden brightness and Victor smiles. “Didn’t kept you waiting, did I?” Victor asks with a playful wink. Yuuri smiles.

“Not at all,” he says, and moves to stand up. Victor steps back, peeling off his coat and uses it to help pull Yuuri out of his grave. Yuuri gets to his feet and dusts his knees off, then reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to pull out a pair of glasses.

“I’m glad they decided to bury me with these,” Yuuri says, then pauses to think about how weird that sounds. Yuuri slips his glasses on and looks to Victor, eyes filling up with even more fondness and love. “There. That’s better.”

Victor smiles, carefully handing Yuuri his jacket to cover himself with. Yuuri takes the coat and throws it over his head, shrouding his face.

“So, what do we do now?” Yuuri asks and Victor opens his mouth to tell Yuuri his plan.

But then he realizes, he doesn’t have one.

“Hmm. . .I. . .I don’t know,” Victor says. Yuuri’s eyes widen.

“What do you mean you don’t _know?_ ” Yuuri asks and takes a step forward, to which Victor steps back and places his hands behind his back.

“I mean that I don’t _know_. . .I’m kind of making it up as I go along?” Victor says with a smile. Yuuri flounders for a word that can describe his feelings of sheer love for his Victor returning to him and just how _stupid_ Victor is for doing this without thinking it through. He eventually settles for a confused sounding ‘ _huh?!_ ’.

“Are you hungry?” Victor asks, effectively changing the subject. Yuuri blinks at Victor, jaw hanging. Then, he pulls Victor’s coat closer to his body.

“Yeah.”

“Want some pie?”

“Okay.”

“We might have to walk. It’s not that far. Just, you know. Buses and Ubers and modes of transportation that might be really congested, might not be a good idea,” Victor explains and Yuuri nods his head. In the far distance, Victor hears something crash into a tree, followed by a pair of anguished yells.

“Better get moving,” Victor says, and gestures for Yuuri to follow him back down the hill.

 

* * *

 

The walk back wasn’t as pleasant as Victor would have liked it to be. Victor had to be a few steps ahead of Yuuri and awkwardly keep his hands in front of him to prevent any accidental brushing. He often checked over his shoulder to see if Yuuri was following him alright, which he was, but he also noticed that the few people they passed by on the street gave them funny looks.

It’s understandable; you don’t see a man with a coat over his head following another man constantly checking over his shoulder like some schizophrenic.

Victor also _greatly_ underestimated the distance between the funeral home and the pie shop. The only thing he’s ever accurate with is time; everything else is either a half-assed guess or a very convincing bullshit declaration. By the time they get there, the shop is closed and the skies are painted with hues calling in the night. Victor is exhausted, but he promised Yuuri a pie and _dammit_ , that’s what he’s going to get.

Victor unlocks the door and allows Yuuri to enter first, switching on a few lights so they aren’t completely in the darkness.

“This is your shop?” Yuuri asks and Victor nods his head, guiding Yuuri to the counter.

“Yeah.”

“. . .So you make pies?” Yuuri asks, resting his chin in his hands. Victor starts brewing some tea.

“Yeah.”

“. . .I thought you wanted to be a figure skater,” Yuuri says and Victor sighs.

“I did, originally. Then that day with my mom. . .and your dad. . .and I had to leave town. . .I don’t know, I guess I just gave up on it. It’s not like I could have went back to it so easily after I left boarding school anyways,” Victor explains. Yuuri folds his hands over the surface of the counter, looking down at his bare knuckles.

“. . .I started training extra hard, in hopes that I might see you again during a competition,” Yuuri says quietly, voice hurt. “I didn’t know you gave up on that dream of us skating together again,” Yuuri says. His tone say a different message: ‘I didn’t know that you gave up on _us_. On _me._ ’ Victor immediately shakes his head ‘no’.

“I didn’t give up on _you_ , Yuuri,” Victor corrects. He sets down a mug for Yuuri and pushes a small bowl of sugar towards him. “I thought about you every night, if you were happy and if you were still skating and if Vicchan was still keeping you company-”

Yuuri laughs fondly. “He does. He looks a lot like Makkachin now,” Yuuri says and Victor rubs his chin.

“Hmm, I guess good looks run in the family,” Victor says with a cheeky smile and Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

“What does that make you? Vicchan’s grandpa?”

Victor reels back from the counter with his hand over his heart. “I’m not that old to be a grandpa!” Victor criticizes and places hands on his hips. “I took care of him when he was a pup too, you know. I’m just as much Vicchan’s dad as you are. . .you know, I still can’t get over you naming him after me.”

“I was seven! And overwhelmed you gave me a puppy! Excuse me for not thinking up a better name!” Yuuri exclaims and Victor laughs. It’s been a while since he gave a genuine laugh that makes his chest feel a little bit tighter and his eyes crinkle a little bit harder. He hears Yuuri’s laughter mix in with his own, and it transports Victor to their childhood filled with laughter and hugs and playing in the daisy meadow, in their little world for the two of them.

Their laughter dies down eventually and the tea is just about ready. Victor takes the kettle in his hands and pours it in the mug while Yuuri watches silently with a warm blush over the bridge of his nose and a smile on his lips. Victor is momentarily distracted by Yuuri – his presence and his smile and those beautiful eyes that shimmer and sparkle – that he doesn't realize that Yuuri is slowly raising his hand up to gently touch his cheek.

Victor yanks his head backwards and spills the tea he is pouring. Yuuri recoils away, eyes wide in shock and confusion as Victor uprights the kettle and places it on the counter behind him.

He looks at the mess he’s made on the floor and the counter, then at Yuuri who is sitting and watching Victor closely.

“I-I’m sorry,” Yuuri says and moves to get up and help, but Victor holds out a hand to stop him.

“No, no. It’s okay, just stay there,” Victor instructs. He grabs a loose rag from underneath the counter and begins to wipe up his mess, eyes flickering up every so often to monitor Yuuri and his proximity to Victor. When the floor is cleaned, he moves to the counter.

“Ah. . .remember when we used to play cops and robbers?” Victor asks and Yuuri raises an eyebrow, not knowing where this is going.

“Yes?”

“Remember when I was the robber and told you to reach for the sky?”

“. . .Yes?”

“Can you do that again?” Victor asks and Yuuri blinks. They spend a few moments staring at each other, then Victor throws up some finger guns aimed at Yuuri. “Reach for the sky, copper,” Victor says with a cheesy drawl and Yuuri laughs, awkwardly holding up his hands with his palms towards Victor, just like he used to do when he was a child.

Victor begins to clean up the area around Yuuri’s mug, small smile on his lips. “Just hold that pose for a couple of minutes and let me get this clean for you,” he says. Victor wipes down the counter and gets up the rest of the spill, careful not to lean too far and brush against Yuuri. Yuuri remains still like Victor wants, waiting patiently and watching Victor quietly.

“. . .I can’t touch you at all, can I?” Yuuri asks when Victor gets the last bit of spilled tea wiped up. His voice is barely a whisper, but Victor hears the sadness on Yuuri’s tongue.

“. . .No, you can’t,” Victor says, tossing the dirty towel in the bin underneath to be washed later. He gets Yuuri a clean mug and pours him some more tea, stepping back and away with the kettle warm in his hands. “Alright, copper,” Victor says and Yuuri lowers hands back down, resting on the surface of the counter.

“. . .I can’t even hug you?” Yuuri asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Victor says and gives a sorry little chuckle, “I haven’t done the whole ‘hugging’ thing in a while now that I think about it.”

“Do you need one?” Yuuri asks, sounding concerned. Victor understands that he might be jarring Yuuri’s perception of him, that he’s different than the young boy he used to be, filled with life and love and excitement.

“I probably do. . .but I can’t have one from you. . .what kind of pie would you like?” Victor asks, not wanting to daunt on the situation. Yuuri, however, does.

“What happens if I touched you again?” Yuuri asks, worrying his hands together.

“Well, then you’ll die. Again. Forever. Do you want apple pie or cherry?”

Yuuri’s eyes sparkle, and his lower lip trembles. He turns his face down and away from Victor, reaching to wrap tender fingers around his mug of tea.

“. . .Anything is fine. . .just get me a lot of it,” Yuuri murmurs. He doesn’t look up at Victor when he speaks, his voice a sad tremble. It’s a special kind of torture to finally be reunited with your childhood love, only to find that there is no way you can ever touch them the way you want to be touched. Victor awkwardly folds his hands behind his back and lets out a sigh.

“Right. . .just. . .I’ll bake you something, okay?” Victor says. Yuuri says nothing back, bringing the tea to his lips to take a small sip. Victor swallows the dry lump down his throat, and gives a small nod of his head to no one in particular, before he grabs an apron and steps into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

The strawberry peach pie Victor baked is halfway gone when Yuuri speaks up again. 

“Does being dead make you really hungry?” he asks suddenly, looking up at Victor who is nursing a hot cup of coffee to keep himself awake because _fuck_ , he’s _really tired_.

“I don’t know. Usually the people that I touch never have enough time to eat an entire tin of pie,” Victor says and shakes the milk carton, “More milk?”

“Please,” Yuuri says and pushes his glass towards Victor. He keeps his hands raised as Victor pours a glass, and only reaches to take it when Victor is back against the other counter. Yuuri huffs, drinking down the milk till it is halfway and wipes away the milk mustache with the sleeve of his suit.

“So it’s a hobby of yours? Touching dead things?” Yuuri asks.

“Don’t call it a hobby, it’s not a hobby,” Victor responds. Yuuri leans in for some answer as to what it _is_ , but Victor goes back to drinking his coffee. Yuuri sighs and leans back. He takes another couple of bites of his pie, pushing around the slices of fruit with his fork.

“. . .You make good pie,” Yuuri says in-between chews. Victor smiles behind the rim of his mug.

“Thank you.”

A few more minutes of silence pass. Victor watches Yuuri’s cheeks fill with pie and puff out like a chipmunk. It reminds Victor of how Yuuri used to eat when they were children, right before they had a little showcase on the ice to demonstrate their skills for any parents that want to watch. Yuuri would shovel pork cutlet bowl after pork cutlet bowl down the hatch, only stopping when his stomach started to ache.

His mother called him a ‘nervous eater’. Victor thought it was adorable. It still is.

Yuuri’s eyes flicker up to Victor and he swallows.

“You’re staring,” he says and Victor raises his mug of coffee towards Yuuri.

“You’re beautiful,” Victor responds, like it is a simple fact.

“I’m beautiful with pie all over my face?” Yuuri asks, cheeks reddening.

“ _Especially_ with pie all over your face.”

Yuuri laughs, taking a napkin to wipe his mouth. “So. . .what happens next? Or are you still in the process of figuring that out?” Yuuri asks and Victor takes another sip.

“Well. . .what happens next is that we go back to my place. You can shower up, take the bed, and we just. . .” Victor does some weird gesture with his free hand that’s supposed to signify the rest of the plan that he’s making up as he goes along. Yuuri hums, biting into a plump slice of peach.

“Remember when we had sleepovers when we were kids?” Yuuri asks and Victor nods his head fondly.

“Sleeping in our pillow fort together with our toy soldiers stationed outside to protect us from the monster in the closet,” Victor recollects with a little chuckle. Yuuri nods his head, taking a strawberry slice in between his teeth to eat.

“And you always told me that you’d be right there to fight it off if it got through our little battalion. . .like some knight in shining armor,” Yuuri says with a little laugh. Victor feels his smile falter momentarily. Some knight in shining armor he is; he wasn’t there for Yuuri when he needed him the most. Victor looks down, his shoulders beginning to sag.

“Hey,” Yuuri calls out and Victor looks up. Yuuri’s resting his chin in his hands, looking at Victor with soft eyes and gentle lips parted. “I don’t like it when people feel sorry for me. _Especially_ you,” Yuuri says. The tone isn’t harsh, but Victor can tell Yuuri is upset about his two-second-pity-party.

Victor straightens his posture. “I don’t feel sorry for you. . .I mean, not that I _don’t care_ but-”

“Then don’t look at me with those eyes,” Yuuri says, folding his hands into his lap. “I’m here now, aren’t I? . . .I’m here with _you_. Isn’t that enough?”

Victor doesn’t know. For the past decade of his life, he didn’t feel like he was truly living. Everything was enough and at the same time not enough. He was satisfied and unsatisfied. Alive, but dead. For Yuuri - the only person to bring him joy and happiness - coming back into his life in the worst possible way, but breathing life back into Victor at the same time, makes Victor feel very confused as to whether this is truly _enough_.

There’s a sudden knocking at the front door, so Victor puts his answer on hold.

Victor walks around the counter, gesturing a hand towards Yuuri. “Stay right there, okay?” Victor instructs as he crosses to the front door and unlocks it. “We’re closed-” Victor begins to say, then narrowly dodges an angry kick clad in Italian leather shoes.

“Where the _fuck_ did you run off to?! We had an investigation!” Yuri yells and forces his way inside the shop from the outside cold. Yuri starts to loosen his tie as he strides to the counter, irritation and annoyance making him blind to Yuuri watching him approach, unsure whether to hide or to stay still.

“You better fix me some-” Yuri halts directly in front of Yuuri, and he just _stares_. Yuuri fidgets in his spot on the stool, looking at Victor who is locking the door back and then back to Yuri. He holds his hand out to shake as a polite gesture, then pulls it back in towards his chest with wary caution.

“. . .Can I touch you?” Yuuri asks.

Yuri sees _red_.

“ _Viiiiiiiccctttooo_ -” Victor’s hand comes over Yuri’s mouth from behind, and he pulls the smaller man up against his chest. Yuri’s arms flail wildly, thrashing in Victor’s hold as the taller man drags the investigator back around the counter.

“We’re just going to chat for a quick second!” Victor tells Yuuri’s confused expression and laughs, dodging Yuri’s fist trying to swing up and hit him upside his jaw. Victor pushes into the kitchen through the double doors and releases his hold on Yuri, rushing to the server window to look at Yuuri still sitting at the counter and still confused as to what the hell is going on.

“I’m going to get you some more pie,” Victor says, eyeing the pie tin that is eighty percent empty. “Do you like chocolate pie? I’m going to get you some chocolate pie.” He doesn’t give time for Yuuri to respond or ask a question, since Victor closes the window shut and switches on the kitchen light.

He turns to Yuri, who is frowning with his arms crossed.

“. . .Okay, so I can explain-” Victor begins and Yuri scoffs.

“He’s supposed to be _dead_ ,” Yuri hisses. Victor bites the inside of his cheek. Well, there’s no way he’s going to escape this lecture. He goes to the ice box to fetch Yuuri some chocolate crème pie. Yuri follows him as he moves through the kitchen.

“I can’t _believe_ you did something so _stupid_. The _fuck_ kind of idea was it to keep a dead guy alive, huh? Just because he’s the one you popped your first boner to?” Yuri spits, full of venom and spite.

It takes a lot of practice to keep smiling against Yuri’s scathing remarks.

“That’s not the reason why I kept him alive,” Victor says, calm.

“So you _planned_ on it?” Yuri questions and Victor hums. He doesn’t see the chocolate crème anywhere in here. They must have sold it earlier. Maybe Yuuri will like a slice of s’mores pie instead.

“I didn’t plan anything, it just. . .happened. Like a pleasant surprise,” Victor says with a smile. Yuri clicks his tongue.

“It’s a selfish _fuck up_ , that’s what it is,” Yuri grumbles. He steps out of the ice box for a moment because it’s starting to get too cold and watches Victor from the door, silent and deep in thought. Victor appreciates the small bit of external silence; now if only he can deal with the internal hurricane of emotions that still hasn’t quelled since he first touched Yuuri and brought him back to life.

“. . .Wait, your rule,” Yuri says and Victor momentarily tenses, hands over a box of vanilla crème custard pie. He moves it out of the way and checks the shelf; nope, no s’mores pie either. He’ll have to come in early tomorrow to do some extra baking. Victor steps out of the ice box and closes the door shut, looking to Yuri who is rubbing his chin.

“You told me that you can only keep someone alive for one minute before someone else died. So, if your little corpse spouse is out there stuffing his face with pie, who died in his place?” Yuri questions. Victor blinks then rubs the back of his neck, then gives a half-assed shrug.

“I don’t know,” Victor states, flat. Yuri blinks.

“You don’t _know?_ ”

“It’s a random proximity thing. It could have been _anyone_ that was at the funeral home. I don’t choose _who_ takes the place-”

“ _I was at the funeral home!_ ” Yuri hisses, and suddenly Yuri’s fists are in the front of Victor’s shirt. “You’re telling me that you kept _him_ alive knowing that there was a possibility that _I_ could have died!”

Victor’s head jolts back and forth as Yuri begins to violently shake the stupidity out of him. “Well, when you put it like _that_ , I sound like a selfish asshole,” Victor’s voice chuckles out. It only makes Yuri angrier.

“Because you _are!_ ” Yuri yells, voice rising in volume as if _that_ will make Victor realize what a terrible decision this is, touch the dead figure skater again, and then quickly deposit his body back at the cemetery like this whole ordeal never happened. Victor takes hold of Yuri’s wrists in his hands, giving them a squeeze.

“We don’t need to panic. I have a plan,” Victor says with a smile.

“No you don’t.”

“I have _part_ of a plan.”

“Is this what you’re like when you’re in love with someone? I don’t like it. You’re more stupid and annoying now than you were before you came across corpse spouse,” Yuri says through gritted teeth and Victor's eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t call him a ‘corpse’. That’s rude,” Victor scolds.

Yuri gapes. “Are you _fucking serious right now?"_  

The kitchen doors creak open and both men turn, seeing Yuuri peeking his head inside.

“Um. . .I don’t really want any more pie. Can we just. . .go home? I think I want to lie down,” Yuuri says, fully stepping into the kitchen and awkwardly pulling Victor’s coat around his body. He gives a wary glance at Yuri, wondering if the man knows about his and Victor’s little secret and how much of it does he understand. Victor releases Yuri’s wrists and places his hands behind his back.

“Of course. . .” Victor turns and suddenly gives a little slap in between Yuri’s shoulder blades, causing the blond jumps from the impact. “Yuuri Katsuki, this is _Yuri_ Plisetsky. He’s a detective and he’s going to find out who killed you!” Victor chirps. Yuri throws a scowl in Victor’s direction, while Yuuri gives a weak smile.

“Um, that’s great.”

“You don’t sound like it’s so _great_ ,” Yuri snaps and Yuuri averts his eyes.

“I just. . .I don’t know who’d want me dead in the first place,” Yuuri murmurs and looks back up to meet Yuri’s steely eyes. “But I’ll do whatever I can to help you!”

Yuri clicks his tongue and strides to the kitchen door. Yuuri sticks out his hand again, confident this time to shake and enter a partnership with the young detective and his dear childhood love. Yuri pauses, stares at the hand outstretched towards him for a few seconds, then wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t touch dead things, that’s _his_ job,” Yuri says with a tilt of the head in Victor’s direction. He turns to face Yuuri head-on, getting all up in the figure skater’s face. “I don’t _like_ dead things. Dead things that sit up and talk are creepy. Which means that I don’t like you and I think _you’re_ creepy,” Yuri spits in Yuuri’s face.

Feeling he’s made his point, Yuri steps away and sticks his hands into the pocket of his coat. “We’ll deal with this shit in the morning. After my coffee. I’ll drive you home. Corpse spouse takes the backseat,” Yuri states and exits without giving either men another glance.

“You’re not creepy,” Victor reassures Yuuri’s crestfallen expression as he carefully approaches the figure skater, hands behind his back.

“He’s not going to like me being around, is he?” Yuuri asks.

“He’s like that with everyone, whether they’re alive or dead,” Victor says and gives a wink. “He’s just a grump. He’ll like you more in the morning when he’s had coffee and some pie. Promise.”

Yuuri’s cheeks warm at the thought of tomorrow, another day with Victor, another day in his new life.

He nods his head and Victor smiles. “Let’s go home, okay?” Victor says and Yuuri smiles.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Yuri drops them off at Victor’s apartment building a couple of minutes later, not wanting to subjugate himself to the lovesick stares Victor kept giving Yuuri through his rearview mirror any longer than he needed to. 

“Tomorrow, we investigate. And he _better not come_ ,” Yuri snaps at Victor’s heart-shaped smile, then peels out from the curb and speeds down the empty street into the night. Yuuri shudders, looking up in amazement at how _tall_ this building is.

“Which floor is yours?” Yuuri asks, head tilted towards the stars.

“The fourth floor. After you,” Victor says with a princely gesture of his hand. Yuuri rolls his eyes at the display, but the smile remains on his lips. He takes the lead, Victor only a few steps behind.

The elevator is busted, so they take the stairs. It gives Victor the time to realize how _exhausting_ this day has been for him, and how nice Yuuri’s voice echoes in the stairwell as he talks about how his own apartment never had stairs quite like this.

“You lived in the city?” Victor asks.

“For a little while. I moved around a lot; I didn’t want to stray too far from home,” Yuuri answers, dragging his fingertips alongside the rails of the stairs. Victor smiles; Yuuri’s heart was always with his family, a deep-rooted love that Victor always admired.

They reach the fourth floor and Victor fumbles with his keys, Yuuri waiting patiently a distance away.

“You live alone?” Yuuri asks and Victor nods his head ‘yes’, then shrugs.

“I live with Makkachin,” Victor answers, opening the door. He steps out of the way and allows Yuuri to enter first, before he follows and closes the door gently shut behind him. Exhaustion seems to weigh Victor down the moment he steps inside his apartment, uncomfortably small but at the same time just the perfect size. He sighs heavily, watching as Yuuri spins around to get a good look at Victor’s home, taking in the small trinkets and clutter of mail on the table.

Makkachin gets up from his bed and immediately nuzzles up against Yuuri, who gets down to his knees and rubs hands into his fur.

“Makkachin. . .” Yuuri murmurs and Makkachin tucks his head underneath Yuuri’s. Victor feels both happy and sad at the sight of Makkachin and Yuuri cuddling together; Christophe often teases him about Makkachin needing someone to touch and pet him. That he and Victor _both_ need someone to touch them. Seeing how Makkachin eagerly rubs and leans into Yuuri’s hands gently moving along his back and over his belly convinces Victor that he may have a point.

Yuuri looks over at Victor. “So that time, he really. . .”

“Yeah.”

“And you did. . .”

“Yep.”

Yuuri’s lips crack into a slightly teasing smile that sends Victor’s head spinning. “You sure it’s not a hobby?” Yuuri asks, getting up from the floor to wander over to Victor’s bookcase filled with philosophical writings on the matter of life and death and life _after_ death. Victor slips off his shoes and kicks them over to a corner of the room.

“I try not to make it one,” Victor says, feeling his body gravitate towards the couch that is looking so soft and inviting. He collapses face first on the couch, then rolls over to his side with a loud groan. “You can take a shower if you want. . .sure I got some clean pajamas you can wear too, so help yourself. Bed’s all yours,” Victor says, taking a couch pillow to bury his face against.

“. . .Okay. . .Victor?” Yuuri’s voice calls out.

“Hmm?”

“. . .Goodnight, Vitya.”

Victor pulls the couch pillow back, seeing Yuuri shed his jacket and take it into his arms. Victor smiles at the figure skater, hugging the pillow against his chest and imagining it’s Yuuri.

“Goodnight, my Yuuri,” Victor says with a gentle chuckle, full of admiration. Yuuri smiles at him, then slowly heads down the hallway towards the bathroom with Makkachin trailing right after. Victor waits until he hears Yuuri close the door, before he turns his head up towards the ceiling and feels a smile stretch across his lips, the first genuine smile he’s had in years. As Yuuri exhales new life, Victor feels something stirring beneath his skin, renewed life flowing through his veins.

This is the day that Yuuri Katsuki came back to life.

This is also the day that Victor Nikiforov began to live.


	2. Chapter 2

Yuuri Katsuki was seven years, five months, one week, and three days old.

He was also hopelessly in love with Victor Nikiforov.

It wasn’t a love that Yuuri quite yet understood, covered by innocence and viewed with a rose-tinted hue. Loving Victor was something that meant holding his hand and sharing his cookies, cuddling together to hide from the monster in the closet, and feeling a tickling warmth in his tummy whenever Victor smiled.

But at that very moment, the only thing Yuuri could feel was heartbreak.

Yuuri could not say that Victor’s father was a kind man. He was often very distant and seemed to be more interested in their teacher at figure skating class than in Victor’s progress in skating. It made Yuuri sad that Victor himself didn’t seem to have a father that loved him as much as Yuuri’s own father did, one that was self-sacrificing and cared for their child’s happiness. Once Victor’s mother passed away, it seemed the man was now trying to fulfill his _own_ happiness and get rid of his son as well.

“I’ll miss you,” Victor murmured in his hair, holding Yuuri tight against him. The sound of Victor’s father tossing his luggage into the car echoed in Yuuri’s ears, like an ominous beat of a monster’s footsteps ready to take his Victor away once it stopped. Yuuri squeezed Victor tighter to prevent that.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me too,” Yuuri cried, tilting his head up as fat tears rolled down his round cheeks. Victor, instead of looking down at him with those gentle blue eyes, turned his head up to look away at the hues of the sky that beckoned the night. 

Yuuri noticed that ever since his father died, Victor had a difficult time looking him in the eye. And when he did, it was full of sadness and regret instead of happiness and love. Victor refusal to look at Yuuri even as they shared their first innocent peck with eyes tightly closed, before he climbed into the backseat of his father’s car without another word exchanged, was a memory that left a deep wound in Yuuri's heart and remained until his very last breath.

Yuuri chased after the car and eventually tripped over his own feet, watching helplessly as Victor disappeared out of his life and into the horizon.

Yuuri Katsuki would never see his childhood sweetheart again, not for as long as he lived.

 

Now, in the present time and after having died and then brought back to life, Yuuri feels. . .strange.

Sitting in a bed that isn’t his, wearing clothes that don’t fit him and watching the details of his murder on the evening news, Yuuri doesn’t know what to make of his current situation. Makkachin is curled up beside him, Yuuri being the first body he could cuddle with in over a decade and not letting the chance escape him. It helps Yuuri for a few seconds, but then it makes him painfully homesick for Vicchan.

The news reports are all the same. He has been dubbed ‘a beautiful figure skater’, ‘a lonely figure skater’, ‘an Ice Prince’, and many other taglines that the media attaches to the exact same photo of him winning a competition roughly one year ago. The sensationalizing of his death leaves a bitter taste in Yuuri’s mouth that is hard to swallow.

He has always imagined being on the news speaking about the world record that he broke, or announcing that he and his rinkmate Victor Nikiforov will be getting married in the spring because that’s when the tulips will be in bloom and he will like a lot at the wedding. He’s more famous dead than he is alive, and no one wants to be known only for how they died.

Yuuri switches the television off and sits in the darkness, glancing at the alarm clock that announces its around ten. He sighs and lies down, pulling the blankets over him and Makkachin, and tries to close his eyes to sleep.

At around two in the morning, the stress of being alive when he should be dead and the many questions of what is he supposed to _do now_ rudely wake him up again. He spends one more hour in bed staring at the ceiling, before he gets up and decides to do what he always does when he’s feeling stressed.

 

* * *

 

It’s four in the morning when Victor starts to smell something delicious wafting into his nose. He turns and opens his eyes, stretching out on the couch as he tries to get rid of the kink that suddenly appears in his lower back just above his tailbone. His vision clears after a few moments, seeing his dearest Yuuri currently pulling biscuits out of the oven. 

Victor takes a while to pull his heavy body up from the couch, dragging his feet as he approaches Yuuri with caution.

“Yuuri?” he asks, voice barely present and still filled with sleepiness. “It’s four in the morning.”

“I know,” Yuuri says simply. He sets the biscuits on the counter next to a giant stack of pancakes and takes the carton of eggs, switching on the stove. “How do you like your eggs?” Yuuri asks.

“Preferably when the sun is out,” Victor says.

“Sunny side up it is,” Yuuri mumbles and neatly cracks the eggs into the skillet. Victor notices that his dining table that takes up space instead of being used for its intended purpose of entertaining guests has been cleaned off, and has even _more_ food covering its surface. Victor crosses his arms over his chest.

“This is a lot of food, isn’t it?” Victor asks. Yuuri pops open a box of granola.

“It’s a lot of food because you don’t cook anything. Why do you buy so much food when you’re the only one that’s going to eat it and _then_ let it sit around in your fridge just to go to waste?”

“I usually don’t have the time to make breakfast and some oatmeal would be enough for me if I _do_ have the time,” Victor says in his defense.

“You mean that oatmeal that’s three months old?” Yuuri asks, moving the eggs around in the pan so it doesn’t stick.

Ah, that explained the texture.

Yuuri moves without warning and Victor jumps back, getting out of the way as Yuuri carries the plate of pancakes and biscuits to the overcrowded table. Victor moves over to hug the wall of the kitchen, hands behind his back and watching Yuuri closely. When Yuuri moves back into the kitchen, Victor puts more space in between them, dancing around Yuuri as if they were in the ballet and Yuuri is the beautiful prima ballerina.

“You should warn me next time before you do all this,” Victor says and Yuuri glances over at him with a raised eyebrow. Victor gestures to the table with a nod of his head. “The cooking. Moving around without me knowing. What if I got up from the couch to make a peanut butter sandwich and, in my confused sleep, accidentally brushed up against you?”

“Do you want me to wear a bell?” Yuuri asks and Victor hums, considering it. The figure skater frowns. “I’m _not_ wearing a bell.” He sounds insulted that Victor would even humor the thought. The pout on Yuuri’s lips looks absolutely kissable; Victor takes a few seconds to just stare and wonder how soft Yuuri’s lips must be and how he wishes to feel them against his own or even just swipe the pad of his thumb over Yuuri’s lower lip.

Victor steps back and away as Yuuri erratically moves through his kitchen, finding whatever food available in the pantry and the fridge and the equipment needed to cook it. Once he’s done with two eggs sunny side up, four eggs scrambled, and a three-egg omelet with cheese, he starts to boil some water for porridge.

“Yuuri,” Victor’s voice is soft and he sees Yuuri’s shoulders tense for a split second. “. . .Aren’t you going to eat?”

“. . .Yeah. . .yeah, I am,” Yuuri murmurs. “Just let me finish this?”

Victor nods, and allows Yuuri this time to have some sort of normalcy that he can control. Makkachin trots out from the bedroom minutes later, following Yuuri as he takes the rest of the egg dishes and manages to squeeze them onto the table. Yuuri sits in a chair and looks to Victor expectantly.

“Um. . .it’s a lot of food,” Yuuri points out, like he hasn’t realized the amount until he sits down and doesn’t know where to even start or where the utensils are underneath the array that he cooked up in little over one hour. Yuuri turns his face down to the small dish of banana pudding that, when he thinks about it, doesn’t remember cooking or even _enjoys_.

Victor yawns and runs a hand through his messy fringe. “Let me go to the bathroom first, wash up, and get dressed,” Victor says. Yuuri nods his head, taking a plate of toaster waffles and placing it in front of him. Victor smiles, trudging to the bathroom and closing the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Can I ask a question?” Yuuri asks and raises his hand. “Grabbing the orange juice,” he announces, and Victor waits to grab the butter next to the carton of juice on the table. Yuuri grabs the carton of juice, then Victor announces he’s grabbing the butter when Yuuri’s hand is a safe distance away.

“I’ll try to answer it,” Victor says with a shrug, cutting him a small slice of butter to slather over his toast. “Grabbing the salt,” he announces. Yuuri tucks his elbow in, as Victor reaches to grab the cute little matryoshka salt shaker.

Yuuri takes a moment to just reflect on the absurdity of this situation. It’s a strange system that Victor put together for them, announcing their movements aloud before making them so the other person knows where the speaker is and what they're doing. He wonders briefly if Victor did this with Makkachin ever since that day Yuuri first witnessed Victor’s gift, and shrugged it away as Makkachin never being _really_ dead in the first place.

“What’s your question, my Yuuri?” Victor asks and Yuuri jumps in his spot across the table, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Right, question. Yuuri has a lot, so he asks the question that comes to the front of his mind first.

“What do you call me?” Yuuri asks. Victor blinks.

“I call you ‘my dearest Yuuri’. . .I can call you something else-”

“No, no. That’s not what I mean,” Yuuri interrupts, cheeks warm at the charming term of endearment. “I mean. . .what am I?”

“Beautiful,” Victor answers, not missing a beat. “Grabbing the honey,” he announces, reaching to take the small little honey bear to the left of Yuuri’s cup of juice, drizzling it over his biscuits.

“Now you’re just being funny,” Yuuri says. Victor smiles, not even sorry. Yuuri begins to cut into the yolk of his eggs, watching it spill out runny and mixing in with his potatoes.

“I mean. . .what is this. . .state of being I’m in? I mean, I’m not a zombie since I’m eating eggs and potatoes instead of brains and human flesh. So, what would I be called? Undead? . . .I don’t really like being called that either. ‘Undead’ is basically the same as saying ‘not dead’. And everybody is ‘not dead’ if they’re living, but people don’t go around calling each other ‘undead’. Why does that word exist? Why isn’t there a word for people who die and are alive again? . . .Well, it’s not like that’s a common occurrence-”

Victor listens to Yuuri ramble and cut his potatoes into smaller and smaller pieces with each sentence. Yuuri’s glasses are slipping down his nose and his hair is a wild, fluffy mess. The shirt that Yuuri borrowed has slipped down to expose Yuuri’s shoulder, looking so soft and smooth. Victor pulls his lower lip in between his teeth; how he wishes he could have a taste of the man in front of him.

“Victor?”

“Hm?”

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Yuuri asks with a frown and Victor smiles.

“Of course I was listening,” Victor murmurs, speaking in a daze that clearly shows he didn’t hear a thing after he started getting enamored by how pleasant breakfast is when you have a companion as beautiful as Yuuri to eat it with. Yuuri decides to just repeat the question.

“Why is it a minute?” Yuuri asks again and Victor blinks.

“What do you mean?” he asks, bring his glass up to his lips.

“That minute thing you were telling me right after you touched me. Why is it only a minute? Nothing bad happened, so why were you concerned about touching me before a minute passed?” Yuuri questions. Victor nearly chokes on his glass of juice.

Of course, Victor hasn’t told Yuuri about the caveats of his little ‘gift’. It’s not so much as he wants to _lie_ to Yuuri, because lying is an ugly thing and Yuuri – his dearest, _dearest_ Yuuri – isn’t someone that should be subjugated to the ugly aspects of life. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to tell Yuuri that to keep him alive, someone else had to die in his place.  Victor believes that it is best for Yuuri to just remain unaware of that little fact. It isn’t lying, it’s just. . .telling a selective truth.

“A minute is longer than you think,” Victor says, the ‘selective truth’ rolling off his tongue with uncomfortable ease. “The longer someone is alive, it just puts them at a bigger risk for something to happen. Like. . .”

“Someone finding out that they’re alive when they shouldn’t be?” Yuuri fills in the blank. Victor raises his glass to his sweetheart, rolling with the answer.

“Precisely,” he says with a nod and drinks.

They go back to their breakfast and clear out as many dishes of food as possible, till Victor feels stuffed and too bloated to move or even think about heading to the pie shop now. He knows he’ll have to get up from the chair eventually; Yuri knows where he is and _will_ come to him if he doesn’t go to the young detective first.

“I’m getting up,” Victor says when he’s sure the pancakes, biscuits, toaster waffles, and two eggs sunny side up have somewhat digested. Yuuri looks up as Victor rises from the table, spoonful of yogurt with blueberries in his grip. Victor wipes his hands on his grey shirt, looking for his wallet and his keys.

“Are you going already?” Yuuri asks and Victor nods his head. He grabs some regular tennis shoes, figuring that if they do go out to investigate, there will be no need for him to make a good first impression.

“I’ll come back around noon to see if you want anything for lunch. Don’t open the door for anyone-”

“Wait, so I can’t come with you? I thought-” Yuuri pauses when Victor’s eyes lock with his, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He averts his eyes back to his yogurt, takes a bite to still his nerves and then admits in a quieter voice, “I thought that maybe we could spend the day together. . .it’s been a really long time.”

Victor smiles. “As much as I’d like that, I can’t. I’m going to find out who killed you, remember? Make sure justice is served.”

Yuuri wants to say that he doesn’t really care since he’s alive-again anyways and he _misses_ talking to Victor, but he eats some more yogurt instead and swallows down his feelings. Victor grabs his jacket and slips it on, sticking his hands deep into his pocket. He glances over to his poodle, who has now wandered his way over to Yuuri to curl at his feet.

“You take care of him, Makkachin,” Victor chides. Makkachin’s ears perk up and he barks, nuzzling against Yuuri’s calves. Victor looks at Yuuri, placing one hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” he says as Yuuri licks his spoon clean.

“Okay,” he says. “Don’t be long.”

Victor feels like he’s seen this scene played out hundreds of times. This is where a couple start their days separate, but always thinking of the other. The spouse will kiss their partner goodbye and murmur ‘I love you’ against their lips, giving an extra hug for good measure. Yuuri’s eyes seem to be waiting for that scene, absently running his tongue over his lower lip. Victor’s grip on the doorknob tenses, and he smiles.

“I won’t be. . .goodbye,” Victor says and brings his fingertips up to his lips, blowing a kiss to Yuuri. Yuuri flushes red, fidgets in his chair, then brings two fingers to his lips to blow a kiss back. Victor feels his entire face erupt with heat up to the tips of his ears, smile stretching so far across his face that his cheeks begin to hurt. He snatches Yuuri’s kiss out of the air and holds it to his heart; the gesture makes Yuuri feel just as warm.

Victor exits the apartment and closes the door shut behind him. He takes this moment, leaning against the door and eyes closed, to relish in this feeling that bubbles low in his stomach, rises through his chest, and exhales out through a breathy sigh.

Pure delight.

 

* * *

 

“From that stupid look on your face, corpse spouse must still be hanging around _not dead_ ,” Yuri grumbles out when Victor sets down a mug of coffee in front of him. 

“Good morning to you too, Yura,” Victor fawns, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “So, what’s on the menu for today?”

“Ice Castle. It’s the last place he visited, so we should figure out who else was there. We also need to find a motive for the murder. Right now, police are calling it a random mugging since they couldn’t locate the duffle bag the victim supposedly took with him before he left,” Yuri mutters behind the rim of his mug.

“Why would they steal his duffle bag for? The most that would be in there would be some sweaty practice gear and his skates,” Victor says with a puzzled expression. Yuri shrugs.

“Maybe they’re a creep. Like you.”

Victor smiles. “First you call Yuuri creepy and now you’re calling _me_ a creep. You can’t think of another insult?” Victor teases. Yuri’s eyebrows furrow in a hard line.

“He’s creepy because he’s _dead_ and still moving. _You’re_ creepy because you’re fucking around with him,” Yuri says, lowering his half-empty mug back to the surface of the counter and looking Victor in the eye. “So, you’re just planning on keeping him in your apartment forever? Like some stuffed pet you mount on the wall?”

“Not forever, just until we solve the case and the news media dies down,” Victor says, glancing over to the television that is broadcasting the morning news. “His face is everywhere. There’s no way he can go out right now and people recognize him as the ‘Ice Prince’. He’s fine with it, though. He understands,” Victor says and pauses for a few seconds.

He hasn’t thought about what will happen once the case is cleared. Even once the news media dies down, it will be difficult for Yuuri to go back to living a normal life with the constant worry that someone will still recognize him as the beautiful skater that met an untimely death. There’s also the fact that Yuuri can’t ever see his family again, or his friends and his rinkmates. Victor doesn’t think that Yuuri can even compete in figure skating anymore; a high-profile sport like that will _definitely_ cause some trouble for them both.

Maybe he should have spent some more time to talk with Yuuri instead. . .they _do_ have a lot they need to talk about.

Yuri gets up to his feet. “Alright, let’s go,” he mutters, slipping his hands into the pockets of his blazer. Victor is shaken out of his thoughts and he undoes the apron around his waist.

“Right, right. Phichit!” Victor calls and Phichit’s head pokes out from the kitchen window. Victor tosses the younger man his apron, who catches it just before it falls on the ground. “Hold down the fort. We have three deliveries, two pick-ups, and call Mila to remind her that she _does_ work today.”

“Okay,” Phichit says, throwing up some finger guns and a wink, “but if you need me to, you know, help interrogate some witnesses and play the good cop-”

“The pie is on fire,” Yuri says dryly. A few seconds later, the smell of burning fruit begins to lightly waft in Victor’s nose. Phichit jumps in his spot and quickly closes the kitchen window shut from prying eyes. Right after, Victor hears Phichit give a dying whine.

Victor looks over his shoulder to find that Yuri is already walking to the entrance. He grabs his coat and slips it onto his shoulders, following the young detective out before he can leave without the pie maker at his heels.

 

* * *

 

As Victor and Yuri start the investigation of the murder of Yuuri Katsuki, the strange feeling that bore itself into Yuuri’s mind earlier has now subsided and replaced itself with a different feeling: loneliness. 

It’s a different type of loneliness than Yuuri has dealt with in his past. Yuuri has always considered himself to be alone for his childhood life and well into his adulthood until his untimely death. He’s familiar with being alone, and at times he prefers to be alone to be left with his thoughts.

But now, after coming back to life, the menial thoughts that float through his head are harder to dwell on. They’re filled with too many questions for Yuuri to keep track of, and too hard or impossible for Yuuri to answer on his own. What will happen to him? How will he live with Victor when they can’t ever touch? Can he ever return to a normal life? Can he even hope to return to his old life? 

Why did he die?

Why did someone want him dead?

Is his mother and Mari okay?

The questions stir and swirl within his mind like a violent hurricane. The air around him seems to be a little bit heavier, a little bit staler and hard to breathe in. He paces around the apartment, soaks in Victor’s tub, tries to busy himself to stop the nervous tremble in his hands while the anxiety rakes through his body and makes him want to curl up into the fetal position.

“Makkachin, is this what you had to go through all these years?” Yuuri breathes, bracing his hands against the window to peer out. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, for signs of Victor returning to him or just desperate to feel the warmth of the sun against his skin. Makkachin flops over onto his side, shiny black eyes looking over Yuuri with pity. Yuuri gives a weak smile towards the dog, getting to his knees to run a hand through Makkachin’s fur.

“Don’t look like that. . .you know, you must want to go outside a lot, huh?” Yuuri says. Makkachin whines; Yuuri takes the noise as a pleading ‘yes’. He rubs his hands over Makkachin’s belly and moves to hold the poodle’s face.

“I read somewhere that dogs need to go outside and stretch their legs. Get some exercise and stuff. It’s not good for you. . .not that Victor _wanted_ to keep you trapped here.” Is that how Yuuri feels? Trapped?

No.

No, that’s nonsense. It’s only been one day, not even a full twenty-four hours since he’s been alive again. Things won’t always be like this. He and Victor will talk and they’ll work things out. . .won’t they?

Yuuri realizes that the hand in Makkachin’s fur has stilled. When he raises it up, it begins to shake. Yuuri pulls his hand close to his chest and tries to remember to breathe. He counts to ten aloud in his head, and when that doesn’t work, he counts to twenty.

Thinking about his family and his mother and sister and Victor once brought Yuuri calm. But it only churns the bile in his stomach and makes sweat break out over his brow when he realizes that he’ll never see Mari or his mother or Vicchan again. And Victor might be back in his life, but at what cost? To never feel his comforting hugs or even kiss him? His breathing gets quicker. What is he going to do? _What is he going to do? What’s going to **happen to him? What will they do? What will he do?**_

Yuuri jumps to his feet. “Let’s go for a walk,” Yuuri chokes out, and all but _runs_ to Victor’s bedroom. He hastily searches through his drawers and finds a pair of sunglasses and a ski hat that will look odd to wear when they’re in the middle of April. He puts them both on, then finds a scarf to wrap around the lower half of his face.

The clothes that he’s wearing belong to Victor; his sweatshirt a little bit baggy and stretched out, and the shorts needing to be pulled tighter around his waist by the drawstring. It's a mismatched horror of fashion, but for now it’s what Yuuri needs to just _leave_.

It doesn’t even feel like he’s getting his shoes on fast enough; his socks are half way rolled onto his feet before he shoves them into the shoes he was buried in without undoing the laces. He’s mumbling and muttering to himself, lips trembling with a quake he tries to bite away.

Just go for a walk. Just walk around the building. Just get out of here. Just get out. Just run. Just run away. Just find Victor. What is he going to do? What can they do? What is he going to do? What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen? _What’s going to happen?_

Yuuri throws open the door and Makkachin hurriedly follows him as Yuuri charges out the door without paying attention to where he’s even going. He stumbles over his feet and trips, falling with arms outstretched to catch something.

And he does.

Or rather, he catches someone.

“Woah!” the man coming up the steps grunts, catching Yuuri before he tumbles down the stairs. Yuuri grows tense and looks up as the man steadies them both, into bottle green eyes framed with long lashes and filled with slight amusement.

“What’s the rush? Is the world ending?” he asks and Yuuri places a hand to his face, making sure that his coverings are still in place. It’s rather hard to see without his glasses and through the tinted shades, but he doesn’t know how many people will recognize his face.

“E-Excuse me-”

“Hold on,” the man says, hold tightening. “Who are you? Why did you come from Victor’s apartment?” he questions and Yuuri freezes. He looks over his shoulder, realizing that he left Victor’s door wide open. With his face shrouded like this and his running from the apartment, Yuuri realizes that he looks _very suspicious_.

“I-I’m a friend of Victor’s,” Yuuri says quickly, hoping that will be enough.

The man hums, eyebrow quirked. He gently runs his hands up to hold Yuuri by the chin through the scarf, his other hand going down and skimming over his hip. The look in his eyes are filled with curiosity, intrigue, like he’s trying to size Yuuri up in only a matter of seconds.

Then, the man asks with all seriousness, “Does he touch you?”

Yuuri doesn’t know how to respond.

 

* * *

 

Thirty miles away from where Yuuri is at the risk of his identity being revealed, Yuri and Victor run into a little complication. 

“ _Closed?_ ” Yuri spits and Victor hums, looking at small flyer pasted onto the door. The message reads in print:

 

**CLOSED FOR BAMBORA PHOTOSHOOT. WILL BE OPEN FOR SERVICE NEXT WEEK.**

**APOLOGIES FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.**

“A _week?!_ Who needs a week for a photoshoot? What are they even taking pictures of?! This is fucking ridiculous,” Yuri growls. He kicks a rock lying on the ground near his foot, then quickly checks his shoes for any scuff marks. When he finds that there are none, he kicks the rock again and repeats. 

“It looks just the same as I remember it,” Victor murmurs, cupping his hands around his eyes to better look through the glass door inside. The walls and the rental desk are painted the same colors, but they’re slightly faded with age. Portraits line the bulletin board that is decorated with different colored flyers and post it notes and decals.

Directly below it, there’s a small memorial of flowers and stuffed piglets surrounding a portrait of Yuuri bathed in a spotlight, with the most ethereal of expressions on his face.

Victor hums to himself, feeling a mixture of guilt and sadness swirling in the back of his mind. He sighs and his breath fogs up the window, leaning back to slip his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“It looks like we have no choice but to come back when they’re open,” Victor says and glances at Yuri out of the corner of his eye. “Unless, you want to break in?” Victor suggests. Yuri clicks his tongue.

“We’re supposed to be interviewing people, getting testimonies and alibies. There’s no _point_ to break into an empty building, especially seeing as the crime scene was already combed over for any clues,” Yuri grumbles and checks his watch. “We wasted our time coming here. Let’s go.”

“Somewhere else you wanted to check?”

“I was hoping that we’d have some people to ask about, but we’ll have to go to Yu-Topia without any leads,” Yuri says. Victor pauses for a second, then rubs his chin.

“Yu-Topia. . .can we head back to the pie shop?” Victor asks. Yuri shoots him a look over the roof of his car, opening the door and climbing into the driver’s seat. Victor climbs into the passenger seat, watching as Yuri fiddles with his keys.

“ _Why?_ We don’t have time and I don’t see the smoke of a pie shop on fire rising in the distance,” Yuri responds.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Yuuri’s mother and his eldest sister. They lost someone else in their family and. . .I don’t know, I just want to give them a pie. That’s what you do when people are grieving, you give them food and eat together and reminisce about the person you lost. It’s nice-”

“What would be nicer is if you let them know that their dead family member isn’t dead after all. That’s better than a fucking pie,” Yuri says matter-of-factly.

“We already established why I _can’t_ do that,” Victor says, turning to look out the window as the car begins to move away from Ice Castle. “This isn’t something that you can just _tell_ someone. I don’t understand why I have this gift or how it works or why I don’t bring more people back to life. One minute I’m a pie maker and the next minute, I’m heralded as a freak of nature or a god or-“ Victor sucks in a breath, “We don’t tell them. That’s it. End of discussion.”

Yuri snorts. “Does corpse spouse agree with that?”

“He’s fine with it,” Victor answers. Yuuri _needs_ to be fine with it. There’s no other option.

“Did you _tell_ him, or do you think because you’re _so in love_ , you just know what the other’s thinking and understand them?” Yuri’s tone is angrier, more agitated than normal. It’s probably because he’s concerned; Yuri never likes to show anyone he really cares about hindrances in his work.

“I’ll _tell him_. Eventually. Not now, just later. After pie.”

“After pie,” Yuri repeats with a disbelieving tone. Victor nods his head and slouches in his seat. The conversation dies there, and Yuri switches on the radio to keep from driving in silence.

 

* * *

 

Victor does not expect to return to the pie shop approximately a half hour later to find Yuuri sitting on a stool with pie in his hands, surrounded by Phichit, Mila _and_ his neighbor Christophe. He tries to keep his face from showing the slightest bit of shock and fear, and his lips stretch into the fakest of smiles. Beside him, Yuri’s smile is mocking. 

“‘He’s fine with it’,” Yuri says in a silly little tone that sounds like a butchered impression of Victor’s voice, “‘He _understands_ ’.”

Christophe flags Victor down at the front door, one arm snaking around Yuuri’s shoulders. He’s dressed in clothes that don’t belong to Victor, but are too fitting and snug to belong to Christophe. It’s a pretty blue sweater, soft against the color of Yuuri’s skin and brings out the warm chocolate shade of Yuuri’s eyes. Victor approaches slowly, hands immediately going behind him.

“I found him leaving your apartment wearing your clothes! I simply _had_ to take him shopping for some better suited outfits. He's quite cute, Victor~ Have you been hiding him from me?” Christophe asks. Victor notices that at the base of the stools, Makkachin is sprawled out on the floor with his tail wagging back and forth. Victor’s eyes shoot up to Yuuri’s guilty ones.

_You brought my **dog** out too?_

Yuuri starts nervously trying to scrape the bits of crumbs onto his fork for a feasible bite.

“I wasn’t trying to hide him,” Victor answers Christophe’s flirtatious smile. Phichit leans in towards Yuuri, giving a smile.

“Doesn’t he look a lot like that dead figure skater?” Phichit asks. Yuuri and Victor twitch, while Yuri nods and takes a seat at the counter.

“He looks _a lot_ like that dead figure skater,” Yuri says and gestures a hand out towards the espresso machine that works some days and doesn’t most of the time. “Coffee,” he commands and Mila rolls her eyes.

“Phichit, that’s rude,” Victor says and Mila shakes her head.

“No it’s not. The guy was a cutie,” Mila says with a shrug as she grabs a mug for Yuri’s espresso. Phichit nods his head eagerly, giving thumbs up to his co-worker.

“Yeah, exactly! It’s a compliment!” Phichit explains and Victor takes in a slow breath.

“Could I talk with. . .my friend. . .in private?” Victor asks, tilting his head towards the kitchen. Yuuri stills himself, then places his empty plate on the counter and takes the lead as he walks into the kitchen with Victor following a good foot apart. When they enter, Victor closes off the window from prying eyes.

“I’m just your friend?” is what Yuuri asks the same time Victor asks, “Why did you leave?”

They pause, waiting for the other to answer their question. Yuuri turns his gaze to his feet, to clean polished shoes that hold his saddened reflection in shiny leather. Victor sighs, bracing himself against the kitchen sink.

“You know how I really feel about you,” Victor answers Yuuri with a soft murmur, glancing up at him through his fringe. Yuuri glances back, lightly pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.

“. . .I know I do. . .but it might be nice to hear it from you,” Yuuri says, twisting the cuff of his sweater between his pale fingers.

“You want to hear how much I love you? How much I care about you?” Victor asks. Pink spreads over the bridge of Yuuri’s nose, and he nods his head ‘yes’. Slowly, Victor takes one step forward, then two, then three. Victor’s hands, itching and twitching to gently slide over Yuuri’s soft cheek or to twine Yuuri’s fingers between his own, dig into the base of his spine.

“Yuuri. . .my dearest Yuuri,” Victor breathes. His voice is quiet, only for Yuuri’s ears. Yuuri looks up into Victor’s eyes through long black eyelashes, and shudders when Victor gives a heavy exhale. “I love you, _so much_.”

“I love you too, Vitya,” Yuuri whispers back. His eyes flutter closed on instinct, leaning upwards toward Victor’s face. Victor steps away and Yuuri kisses the air, disappointment working its way into the furrow of his eyebrows, before he sighs and leans back with sad understanding.

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence between them. Victor walks around the table to check the pies currently in the oven, as a way of distracting himself from Yuuri’s heartbroken expression.

“. . .I’m sorry that I left,” Yuuri apologizes after Victor pulls out a chess pie and sets it hot and piping on the surface of the table. The figure skater runs hands over his arms, holding himself since Victor can’t. “I couldn’t stand to be in the apartment any longer. I covered up as best as I can, and I didn’t tell anyone who I was. I promise I wasn’t any trouble to you-”

“You’re not trouble to me. You’re _never_ trouble to me,” Victor explains. He sifts through the oven, spotting an apple pie that smells just heavenly. He takes it out, and decides this will be the one he’ll gift. From his memory, Yuuri was always fond of the apple pies Victor’s mother baked. He places it on the counter, then dusts a layer of butter and cinnamon sugar over the crust.

Yuuri draws close but not too close, watching as Victor’s hands go to work. “That look on your face earlier said I _was_ trouble,” Yuuri says with a frown. “Victor, can we please talk? About. . .about what’s going to happen-”

“I _promise_ that we’ll talk later. We just need to go to one more place and I’ll come back home to you. We’ll talk for as long as you like then,” Victor says. Figuring that’s enough sugar and sweetness on the crust, he reaches for a box to place the pie in. Yuuri circles around Victor, sticking his arm out just as Victor reaches for the box. Victor’s hand jolts backwards in alarm, looking at the figure skater with wide eyes.

“ _Yuuri_ , I could have-”

“I can’t go back there and just _sit_ waiting for you to come back,” Yuuri says, bringing his hands to his chest. “Can I just come with you? I don’t have to get out of the car, I can stay in the backseat-” Victor sees the anxious tremble in Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri’s getting nervous. He’s getting _scared_. What happened?

“Yuuri, did something happen at the apartment?” Victor asks, concerned. Yuuri shakes his head.

“No, no. Nothing happened. I just. . .I just don’t want to go back to the apartment alone,” Yuuri murmurs. Alone with thoughts that threaten to strangle him and suffocate him and make him long for the feeling of someone’s gentle loving touch to calm his shortened breath. Victor opens his mouth to try and say something reassuring, but the kitchen door opens and Yuri’s head pops inside.

“Yu-Topia is _really_ far from here and since you _insisted_ we stop to get a fucking pie, can we _leave now?_ ” Yuri asks annoyed. Victor sees how Yuuri tenses out of the corner of his eye, and shoots a passive-aggressive smile in the direction of the blond.

“Just a minute,” Victor says through his clenched smile.

“Last time you told me that, _he_ showed up,” Yuri says with a glare in Yuuri’s direction. He closes the door shut before Victor can storm over and slam it shut himself. Victor squares his shoulders, then takes a deep inhale through his nose.

“The answer is no,” Victor answers Yuuri’s question before the man can even ask it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuuri curl inwards like a flower that is wilting. Victor bites his lower lip, and quietly moves to package away the pie for Yuuri’s mother.

“Please? I’ll stay in the backseat. I’ll look through the window-”

“If they see you Yuuri-”

“Mari didn’t handle Dad’s death well. And my mom-” Yuuri’s voice snaps off the second he mentions his mother, trembling hands going to his mouth. “Mom. . .Victor, please let me just see if she’s okay-”

“Yuuri, I can’t,” Victor says, voice stern. He looks at his childhood sweetheart, into Yuuri’s eyes aching for his life with Victor and his family. Victor stills the words on his tongue, then tears his gaze away and takes the pie into his hands.

“We’ll talk about this later. For now, have Chris take you and Makkachin back home. I’ll be back by sundown,” Victor says quietly. Yuuri looks down at the floor, and doesn’t say a word back. His hands tighten in the fabric of his sweater, and he lets out a soft breath. Yuuri steps forward and Victor quickly backs into the table to get out of his way as the figure skater storms past him and out the kitchen door.

Victor follows him, watching as Phichit and Mila quickly move away from the kitchen window they were listening through and pretend they weren’t eavesdropping on their boss. Yuuri approaches Chris and asks in a very calm and quiet voice, “Can you take me back to the apartment?”.

Chris blinks, looks over at Victor awkwardly standing at the kitchen door, then back to Yuuri.

“Uh. . .okay?” he says, not sure what else there is _to_ say. He gets up from the counter as Makkachin follows right after Yuuri, the figure skater not even giving Victor another glance over his shoulder. Chris waves goodbye, then follows Yuuri and Makkachin out the door. Victor sighs and leans against the doorframe, closing his eyes. Well, that went horribly.

He opens his eyes to look as Yuri gives him a cocky little smirk. “Just so you know,” Yuri begins, “you brought this on yourself.”

Victor does what he always does when he feels like he wants to scream. He smiles.

 

* * *

 

The sight of Yu-Topia stirs something in Victor’s chest when he and Yuri arrive at the hot springs an approximate two hours later after the spat at the pie shop. Victor has always viewed Yu-Topia as his second home when he was a child, but has never returned due to the overwhelming guilt that now currently starts eating away at his insides. He’s caused the Katsukis so much heartache; he’s hurt this family that loved him like their own so _much_. The pie in his hands trembles just a bit, his feet locking into place when Yuri rings the bell at the check-in desk and they wait for someone to see them.

Eventually, a woman comes into Victor’s view, cigarette hanging from her lips. She walks to the counter with a lazy gait, like it’s already a pain for her to even approach them.

“Yeah?” she asks and Yuri opens his mouth to introduce himself, but Victor steps forward instead.

“Hi. My name is Victor, Victor Nikiforov?” Victor introduces, words spilling past his smiling lips. “I’m a. . .I _was_ a friend of Yuuri’s? And I have pie?”

The woman stares at Victor, eyebrows turning down into a hard line, then down at the pie in Victor’s hands. She takes the box from him, then tilts her head to the dining area where there’s some patrons watching a small television.

“I’ll get my mom,” she murmurs and _oh_ , this is Mari. She looks. . .so different. Victor always found Mari to be cool and calm and collected. She cheered Yuuri and him on whenever they managed to perfect a step or land a jump, even when she herself didn’t know the movements in the field. Her eyes didn’t sparkle as much as Yuuri’s, but there was still life and love swimming deep in them like everyone else.

Now, they look so dim.

Yuri jabs an elbow in Victor’s side and the pie maker glances down at the young detective scowling up at him.

“We’re not here to catch up on lost time. We’re here to get information,” Yuri reminds with a frown, slipping off his expensive shoes to tuck underneath his arm and grabs a pair of throwaway slippers. Victor does the same, remembering back to the times where he and Yuuri slid across the hardwood floors of the inn just after Yuuri’s father waxed it till it shined.

They take a table in the corner of the dining room far from the other inn guests, quietly watching and waiting. The news reports constantly bring up Yuuri’s murder and his face flashes up on the screen with a dazzling smile. Victor turns away from the television, trying to block out the noise.

“Did you think about what you’re going to tell corpse spouse? Because he looked pretty pissed,” Yuri asks, readying his notes and reviewing the case file.

“I’ll. . .I’m going to tell him that everything is going to be fine and we got everything under control and that he doesn’t need to worry.”

“Which is just your roundabout way to say you don’t know how to fix your fuck-up. And don’t drag me into this, I already said what you need to do. Take that finger of yours and-” Yuri jabs the inside of Victor’s wrist with a sharp poke, then makes a ‘poof’ noise. Victor frowns.

“I’m _not_ doing that,” Victor states and Yuri huffs. He opens his mouth to make a scathing remark, but goes silent when he notices Mari and Yuuri’s mother coming towards the table with pie and empty plates. Hiroko Katsuki is hesitant to take a seat, her eyes wide and looking at Victor as if she’s seen a ghost.

“Vicchan?” she asks and Victor’s smile cracks into a grin and he waves.

“Hi,” he says. Her hands fly to cover her mouth to seal in her gasp of surprise, and tears well up in her eyes. She wraps her arms around Victor’s arms, hugging him tight. Victor feels warmth radiating from her, soft and secure. The gesture makes a sudden well of emotions lodge in Victor’s throat.

He feels like he is back home, with a loving mother that smells of home cooking and fresh laundry. She squeezes him to make up for all the hugs she couldn't give him when he left as a child, to spare a moment to grieve over their shared loss, and for just a split second to imagine it was her own son she was holding tight against her. Victor closes his eyes, and hugs her back just as firm.

They pull apart and she wipes a tear from her eye, smiling kindly. “It’s nice to see you again, Vicchan. Especially after. . .” she purses her lips and takes a plate, smile just a little bit strained. “Thank you for the pie. That was very kind of you. You’ve always been so kind, your mother raised you to be such a gentleman.”

Victor nods his head, and watches as she cuts some slices and serves Victor and Yuri before herself and Mari. “So, how have you been? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you,” Hiroko says fondly. Victor watches for her to take a first bite, only speaking when he sees the flush of enjoyment break out over her round cheeks.

“I’ve been well. I own a pie shop in town now actually,” Victor explains. Hiroko gasps, gesturing to the pie on her plate with her fork.

“So you made this?” she asks. Victor nods his head. “It’s wonderful! Ah, but your mother used to make pies, didn’t she? You must have gotten it from her,” she says with a little giggle. “Are you still figure skating?”

“No. I wasn’t able to go back to the ice so easily after I left boarding school,” Victor responds. Yuri is quietly eating his pie, while Mari just pushes around the dessert on her plate with a detached expression. Hiroko hums.

“Well, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Maybe you can take some refresher lessons at Ice Castle and get back on the ice,” Hiroko suggests. Victor laughs, genuine, and rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m a little bit too old to be doing the spirals and jumps I used to do as a kid,” Victor admits with a sheepish grin. Hiroko waves her hand, smiling.

“Nonsense! It doesn’t matter how old you are, so long as you’re having fun skating out there. You were such a beautiful skater, Vicchan. I remember when you wore that pretty flower crown of yours and you had your long hair braided. Mari helped you with your hair, remember?” Hiroko exhales and looks over to her daughter across from her at the table. Victor looks over at the slightly-elder woman too, seeing Mari give a small shrug.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says, wry little smile on her lips. She points her fork towards Victor and cocks an eyebrow. “I remember you getting snippy with me because the braid was too tight,” Mari says. Victor brings fingers to his now shorter hair.

“It was! It’s hard to skate when it feels like something is ripping out of your scalp. I blame you for my hair thinning now,” Victor jokes. He sees the teasing light return to Mari’s pupils, the woman crossing arms over her chest.

“Well, excuse me for trying to make sure you looked nice. I thought my braids in your hair looked lovely,” Mari says with a wink and Hiroko nods her head.

“I’m sure I have some old pictures somewhere around here actually!” Hiroko laughs, holding her face and Mari nods her head.

“They’re probably in Yuuri’s room. He always looked at Victor’s photos and complained that I never braided his hair like that when it was far too short,” Mari says. She smiles, but then her shoulders tense. Victor sees the light from Mari’s eyes disappear, and he understands what’s happening. For one split moment, Mari had forgotten her brother was dead. Or at least, dead to her knowledge. But now, she remembers.

Hiroko seems to do the same thing, eyes cast downwards to the pie on her plate. Her lips are quivering, trying to remain in a neutral line and not twist downwards into a pained sob. She swallows her emotion down with a bite of apple pie, while Mari lets out a sigh and grabs her plate.

“I’m going to lie down,” she announces, and leaves before anyone can tell her to wait.

There’s silence between the three remaining at the table, Yuri allowing the woman to have a second to grieve before he asks his questions. Hiroko lets out a sad little laugh, shaking her head.

“There’s no talking around the subject, is there?” she asks. Victor bites the inside of his cheek, looking to Yuri. The blond takes that as his chance to begin.

“Mam,” Yuri starts, “I’m Yuri Plisetsky, private investigator. I’m looking into the case of your son and I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Yuri says. Victor is always amazed at how Yuri can change his tone with such ease and professionalism. Yuri’s voice isn’t necessarily kind, but it’s quiet enough to not come off as rude as he usually is.

“Right, right. . .” Hiroko says and Yuri goes through his notes.

“Did you know if your son had any known enemies?”

“No, no. Of course not. Yuuri was very kind and kept to himself. He didn’t like conflict and preferred to avoid it if it caused too much stress for him. I’m sure he would have mentioned something to me if there was someone giving him trouble. . .at least, I hope he would have. He always _did_ like to keep his problems to himself,” Hiroko says sadly.

Yuri scribbles down the information in his notes, while Victor – wishing to offer some sort of comfort – rests his hand on her shoulder. She smiles just a bit at the gesture, and moves Victor’s hand to hold in between hers and run her thumb over the ridges of his knuckles.

“Was he in a relationship with anyone? Any exes that had a bad breakup?” Yuri asks and she shakes her head ‘no’. More writing; the pull of Yuri’s eyebrows lets Victor know that he’s forming ideas and angles to work with for the investigation.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Yuri asks. Hiroko sucks in a breath, eats another bite of pie and hums.

“That same day, in the morning. He called to let me know that he was going to be late to dinner since he was spending longer at practice. He always worked himself to exhaustion trying to perfect that program of his, but I knew how much it meant to him, so I never said anything,” Hiroko explains.

“Anything else? Any people he might have been practicing with that I could get in contact with?”

“Not that I know of. . .I have his coach’s information at the front desk. I’m sure that he must have been there at least,” Hiroko says and Yuri nods his head.

“That’ll work. Any bit helps,” Yuri says. Hiroko sighs, looking to Victor.

“So you’re helping him, Vicchan?” the elder woman asks. Victor nods his head.

“Yes. I help him sometimes. He’s an acquaintance of mine,” Victor says. Yuri shoots him a look, like he’s offended that Victor made him seem like someone insignificant, but Victor ignores the glare. Hiroko bows her head to Yuri.

“Well thank you. Thank you for helping find out who did this to my son,” Hiroko says in earnest. Really, the only reason why Yuri is even paying this case any mind is because of the reward, but the detective gives a nod of his head anyways.

“Right. . .well, we won’t take any more of your time,” Yuri says, rising to his feet and adjusting his blazer. He looks to Victor and he rises as well, but Hiroko squeezes his hand and prevents him from stepping away just yet. He glances down at her and she smiles up at him.

“Come back soon,” she says. Victor smiles at her and squeezes her hand.

“Yeah. . .I promise.” 

Her smile reminds Victor of Yuuri as she nods her head in understanding. He realizes that he wants to see that smile on his Yuuri’s lips once more.

 

* * *

 

“So, are you and Victor a ‘thing’?” Christophe asks from his kitchen, watching the back of Yuuri’s head as Yuuri watches the television in front of him.

“We’re. . .something,” Yuuri says after a beat of silence. His eyes take in the colorful pictures and text flashing on the screen, but his mind is elsewhere. It’s on Victor, and how much the boy he loves so dearly has now become a man that is objectively less warm and passionate.

Even despite their predicament, Victor _never_ tried to turn Yuuri away from talking. He encouraged it, he _desired_ to listen to Yuuri’s fears and hopes and dreams. Indulging in Yuuri’s thoughts was Victor’s favorite pastime next to figure skating, and now Yuuri finds he doesn’t do that either. He slumps against the cushion of Christophe’s couch, Christophe’s cat curled up to his left hip and Makkachin curled against his right hip.

Yuuri wonders if the feeling of sadness sitting in his gut is because he misses the life he had before death, or because he’s feeling guilty for being unsatisfied with this new life he didn’t ask for.

Christophe peers at Yuuri. “Like a boyfriend ‘something’ or a best friend that likes to wear the other’s clothes ‘something’?” Christophe asks.

“He’s my first love,” Yuuri says. There’s a pause between them where the only noise is the news report on the television.

“. . .And are you two. . .back together?” Christophe asks.

Something that Yuuri has found out much earlier is that Christophe Giaccometti has a ‘thing’ for Victor Nikiforov. Unfortunately for him, Victor seems content to keep this ‘thing’ strictly platonic.

Yuuri sighs, not wanting to answer. After another beat of silence, Christophe decides not to pry about the relationship between the mysterious male and the pie maker. Yuuri glances at the clock, wondering how much longer will it be for Victor to come back home and if Victor will be even willing to talk to him or try to push it off until the next morning.

“ _And in recent news_ ,” the newscaster announces, Yuuri’s ‘while living’ picture flashing up on the screen. The figure skate jumps in his spot on the couch, then quickly scrambles to find the remote control. “ _No recent updates in the murder case of ‘Ice Prince’ Yuuri Katsuki. The reward from Yu-Topia Hot Springs Inn and Ice Castle has now increased from a donor who wants to remain anonymous. If you have any information, please dial-_ ”

Yuuri doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the report, remote in his hand and thumb just about to change the channel. He stills, the sadness in his gut switching to an uncomfortable confusion. Victor didn’t mention there being a _reward_ for finding his murderer, nor did he mention that his family were the other half of the ones offering it.

He switches the channel to a reality show. It cuts to commercial right after a woman accuses her husband of lying to her and throwing water in his face.

There’s a sudden knock at the door and Christophe moves from the kitchen to open it, Yuuri looking to see Victor waiting on the other side.

“Is Yuuri here?” Victor asks. Yuuri feels his heart quiver at the tone of concern and worry in Victor’s voice terribly concealed with his smile. But he forces himself to remain mad with the older man, and turns his attention back to the awful television program. Christophe leans against the doorframe, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yes. He told me he felt lonely in that apartment of yours, so I let him wait in here with me,” Christophe spills. Yuuri feels his cheeks flare with embarrassment and tangles his fists in his sweater.

“Oh. . .I see. . .Yuuri,” Victor calls out and Yuuri sighs, getting to his feet. Makkachin shifts from the sudden loss of body heat he was snuggling against, then hops off the couch to follow Yuuri out the door. Victor steps to the side, hands behind his back, and lets Yuuri exit first and then Makkachin. They cross the hall to Victor’s apartment, Yuuri not exchanging a look towards Victor.

Christophe hums. “For childhood lovers reuniting, there’s an extreme lack of touching between you two,” he points out. Victor and Yuuri twitch, then Victor just gives a little laugh and smiles.

“We just have a lot to catch up on,” Victor says with a wave of his hand. Yuuri pouts; they most certainly do.

Victor says his goodbyes for them both and Christophe watches as Victor unlocks his own door and escorts Yuuri and Makkachin inside. When Victor closes the door, Yuuri turns to the pie maker and folds his arms over his chest. Before he opens his mouth, Victor raises his hand to silence him.

“I love you. I know that these past few hours make it seem like I don’t, but I _do_ ,” Victor says before Yuuri can protest that _he wants to talk, dammit!_ The sudden declaration makes Yuuri falter, trip over his tongue and heat rise to his cheeks.

“Oh,” he says after trying to remember the words he wants to say. “I. . .um. . .how were-”

“They're fine. . .well, as fine as any person would be in mourning,” Victor admits. He sheds his coat, tossing it onto the couch where he’ll sleep for tonight. “Yuri is considering any possible leads. Do you know if anyone else was there at Ice Castle that night? Someone that might have a grudge against you and wanted you dead?”

Yuuri blinks. “N-No. It was me, Celestino, J.J., . . .Minami was there too for a short while. . .but no one that I know of that would want to kill me. Why? You don’t think someone that _knew_ me killed me, do you?” Yuuri asks and Victor shrugs.

“It’s his hunch. Especially since they stole your bag. You didn’t have anything valuable, right?” Victor asks and Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’. The silver-haired man hums and slips off his shoes. “Did you eat already? I can run out and grab you something-”

“No, I’m fine. Besides, there’s still something that I could-” Yuuri pauses. What is he doing? He’s getting sidetracked. He’s getting distracted. He’s supposed to be _mad_ with Victor for not telling him about this reward. Yet, Victor smiles at him with those gentle lips Yuuri desperately wants to feel over his own, and he finds his anger melting away with the tension in his shoulders.

“Victor?” Yuuri begins, stepping to the side as Victor cautiously moves to the kitchen to grab himself a drink.

“Yes, my dearest Yuuri?”

“Stop that,” Yuuri blurts. Victor glances at him over the top of his open refrigerator door.

“Stop what?"

“Stop making me not mad at you,” Yuuri accuses. Victor blinks, then chuckles.

“I’m sorry?” he apologizes with a wry smile, closing the fridge door shut with his foot and a soda dangling between his fingers. Yuuri huffs.

“This entire day I wanted to talk to you about what’s going to happen and you kept putting it off. You _say_ you have a plan, but you’re not telling me anything about it and I don’t want to be trapped in this apartment by myself with just a poodle to keep me company,” Yuuri rambles and looks to Makkachin sprawled out on the floor, “No offense.”

Makkachin barks. None is taken.

“You sound like I’m keeping you prisoner here,” Victor winces and Yuuri runs a hand through his hair.

“No? I don’t know. I’m just. . .I’m really confused and you keeping me in the dark about everything _really_ isn’t helping. . .if I knew who killed me, would you have touched me back then?” Yuuri asks. Victor’s eyebrow quirks in confusion.

“What? Of course not.” 

“Well, you don’t know what to do with me alive. So, were you just planning originally to touch me once you got your information? ‘Make sure justice is served’?” Yuuri questions. Victor takes a long sip of his drink. Yuuri waits for Victor to think of an answer.

“. . .Were you watching the news with Christophe?” Victor says.

“The news that mentioned there being a reward for whoever solves my murder that you _didn’t_ tell me about? Yes. Christophe wasn’t paying attention if you’re worried about him recognizing me. He was more concerned about whether me and you are a ‘thing’, which I’ll talk about later-”

“It’s a good thing, right?” Victor interrupts, smiling behind the mouth of the soda bottle. Yuuri shakes his head; stay focused, don’t get distracted.

“When were you going to tell me? How much is this reward anyways?” Yuuri asks and Victor braces himself against the counter.

“Ten thousand,” Victor answers. Yuuri feels the air leave his lungs in a quick gasp.

“With that contribution from the anonymous donor?” Yuuri further asks. Victor hums.

“Yuri is going to be working _extra_ hard if the reward increased,” Victor not-so-quietly mumbles to himself. Yuuri furrows his eyebrows.

“So it’s business between you two? You touch people, find out who killed them, touch them so they go back to being dead, nab the killer and get the money? I’m just another pay check?”

“ _No_ , you’re not. I’m not after your reward, Yuuri,” Victor says and Yuuri steps closer.

“Are you lying?” Yuuri asks and Victor takes another swig of his soda.

“I’m not lying.”

“Victor, I’ll be _so angry_ if you’re lying to me right now,” Yuuri says.

“I _swear_ I’m not lying to you, my dearest Yuuri,” Victor says, placing his hand over his heart. Yuuri feels his ears prickle with heat, and his eyes find interest with the floor.

“. . .Well. . .good then. . .” Yuuri mutters. His breathing is still steady, and his hands that were drawn into tight fists now rest limp against his sides. Victor rests his soda back on the counter.

“Yuuri,” Victor says. Yuuri’s eyes go back up to lock with Victor’s, momentarily drowning in those shiny blue eyes. “I might not have a plan. . .but you’re not going to struggle through this alone. I’m right here, okay? I’m not leaving again. I’ll do my best to make this place as comfortable for you as possible and answer any question that you can think of.”

Victor swallows and sighs. “I wish right now that I can take you in my arms like I used to when we were children, and brush my hands through your hair and make that anxiety and fear still in your eyes just go away. . .but I can’t,” he says with remorse. Yuuri chokes on his breath.

They spend a moment looking at each other, eyes filled with longing for the other’s warmth. In this moment, Yuuri feels the loneliest he’s ever been in his entire life. From Victor’s eyes, Yuuri knows his childhood love feels the same.

Makkachin rises from his spot on the floor and moves to sit in front of Yuuri, blinking shiny eyes up at him. Yuuri looks at the poodle happily wagging his tail, then up at Victor. Victor smiles, gives a little chuckle, and tilts his head towards Makkachin.

“Um. . .well, it might not be the same but. . .” Victor says, and Yuuri understands what he means. He gets to his knees on the ground, and wraps his arms around Makkachin to squeeze the poodle. It isn’t the same, but it’s still warmth, it’s still a part of Victor in just a fluffy and affectionate dog form.

Victor wraps arms around himself when Yuuri’s eyes look up to meet his, trying to imagine the feel of holding Yuuri and Makkachin in his embrace.

Makkachin licks Yuuri’s cheek when he pulls away, wiping the bit of dog drool with the cuff of his sweater.

“I’m going to take a shower and get ready for bed,” Yuuri says with a tired yawn. Victor nods his head, figuring he’ll do the same after Yuuri is settled. Yuuri turns to walk to the bathroom, but pauses for a moment, then turns back to Victor. “Can I go with you to the pie shop tomorrow?” Yuuri asks.

Victor takes his soda back into his hands. “I might not be there the entire day though. If Yuri wants to investigate something, I’ll have to leave,” Victor explains. Yuuri folds his hand behind his back.

“Then I’ll go with you,” Yuuri suggests. Victor twists his lips into a frown.

“Yuuri-”

“I can help! I mean, that’s what you normally do, right? I can offer my insight and help you solve my murder. We could be like. . .Batman and Robin! Or. . .some other supernatural duo that solves crimes that I can’t think of at this moment,” Yuuri says. Victor smiles.

“Would Yuri be Batgirl in this little scenario of yours? Or maybe Alfred?”

Yuuri covers his cheeks, red with slight embarrassment. “Um, okay that might not have been the _best_ example. But like. . .I could help deliver justice too,” Yuuri murmurs. Victor chuckles.

“Alright then,” Victor says, eyes sparkling. Yuuri blinks.

“. . .Alright?”

“Alright. You’ll have to convince Yuri to let you tag along and that might be tough because Mila and Phichit has hardened his resistance to amateur sleuths tagging along on his jobs.”

“So what does that make you?” Yuuri inquires and Victor shrugs.

“A pie maker,” Victor says in a horrible ‘Batman’ impersonation that makes a smile break out over Yuuri’s lips. He laughs and so does Victor, the chuckles tickling through his chest and making it just a little bit lighter and easier to breathe. Yuuri hums, rocking on the heels of his feet, while Victor purses his lips in a smile.

“You should get some rest,” Victor says and Yuuri nods his head. He does feel exhausted; the stress and anxiety wears down his energy at a faster rate than normal. Yuuri brings his fingers to his lips and blows a kiss to Victor.

“Goodnight, Vitya,” Yuuri says in a sleepy murmur. Victor catches the kiss like before, bringing it to his heart.

“Goodnight, my Yuuri,” Victor says and blows a kiss back.

 

* * *

 

Morning for the pair begins at a regular hour, with Victor fixing them both a quick breakfast while Yuuri fires off question after question that pops into his head. The figure skater watches Victor from his spot at the dining table, Makkachin on his hind legs and bracing upwards to get Yuuri to rub his back.

“Why did you cut your hair?” Yuuri asks. Victor chuckles, slicing some fresh banana and strawberries to top their (not expired) oatmeal.

“Long hair was not considered ‘uniform’ by the boarding school,” Victor explains. Yuuri pouts.

“It was so beautiful though,” Yuuri says, mildly frustrated. “I always wanted to have my hair braided the same way yours was during that one competition we had as kids,” Yuuri says, pinching his own short black locks. Victor hums, thinking back to Mari and wonders how she and Hiroko are now. He’ll have Phichit deliver another pie to them when they arrive at the pie shop.

On their walk, Yuuri asks, “What happened with your father?”

Victor responds with, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” 

They leave the conversation at that. 

Phichit greets Yuuri with a cheerful hello and Mila sets down a slice of pie as Victor gets on his apron and starts to get to work. Phichit already has a couple of pies prepped and started, one pie already in the oven and baking. Phichit’s pies aren’t up to the same caliber as Victor’s just yet, but they _are_ delicious. It feels like home whenever you eat a pie made from Phichit, made from every bit of love and comfort and happiness that the Thai man exudes without restraint.

He listens to Yuuri chat with Phichit and Mila, the workers trading off between servicing the customers and trying to find out more about their boss’s mysterious friend that somewhat resembles the beautiful figure skater that recently passed away. Yuuri doesn’t give them any details that could pin his true identity down, but he speaks about Victor with such a fond tone filled with love that makes Victor’s chest tickle.

Victor gets wrapped up in the smell of fresh pies and sugar and Yuuri’s gentle laugh floating into his ears through the kitchen window. So much so that he doesn’t realize the kitchen doors had swung open with Yuri barging inside with lips twisted in an annoyed grimace.

“Good morning, Yura~” Victor purrs as preps an order that is supposed to be out for delivery by two. He smiles at the detective’s scowl. “Ah, you know, regular people aren't allowed in the kitchen. Can't have people stealing my secret recipes you know~”

"You still have corpse spouse hanging around you," Yuri spits and Victor hums.

"We've reached an understanding with each other," Victor says.

"Hmm, is that so?"

Victor nods, letting out a heavy sigh. "I love him  _so_ much," Victor fawns and Yuri snorts.

"We'll see how long that lasts, _Casanova_." Yuri seems extra spiteful today, for some reason. Victor doesn't try to think to much of the insult against his and Yuuri's relationship, instead focusing on the pies laid out in front of him. 

"Any luck calling Yuuri's coach? Does he know anything?" Victor asks, trying to get down to the business Yuri will rather be dealing with. 

“I don’t know if he doesn’t know anything. We still need to ask him,” Yuri says. His voice, despite his annoyed expression, is very calm. It’s a tranquil fury that doesn’t sound quite right coming from Yuri’s lips. Victor feels a slight chill crawl up his spine.

“Why do I have to be there? Don’t you just need to make a phone call?” Victor asks. Yuri doesn’t say anything, just reaches inside his coat and pulls free a copy of this morning’s newspaper. Wordlessly, he tosses it on the table and flour erupts into the air from impact. Victor frowns, fanning away the flour and moves to look at the small article Yuri has circled in red ink.

 

**_COACH OF LATE FIGURE SKATER YUURI KATSUKI PASSES AWAY UNDER EERIE CIRCUMSTANCES!_ **

 

“They say that he looked like life just got up and left from him,” Yuri says. Now there’s a spiteful tone, bitter and intending to cause as much hurt as possible. “Ask me where he last was,” Yuri barks and Victor glances up at Yuri, hoping that the detective isn’t implying what he _thinks_ he’s implying.

“I. . .It can’t be-”

“They found him at the funeral home. He was there for the service of his student around the same time we were, in _close proximity,_ ” Yuri states, voice flat.

Victor stares at the article’s headline, as if the bold print in solid ink must be some sort of illusion. He knew the consequences of keeping his beloved Yuuri alive, and he promptly pushed them out of his mind when Yuuri’s eyes sparkled back up at him with life. He knew that he had to take a life in order to keep a life.

It’s like a repeat of that traumatic day in childhood, taking away someone else that was close to Yuuri solely for Victor’s own happiness. Only this time, there’s no running away.

The kitchen doors open and both men look, spotting Yuuri quietly entering with a small smile on his face.

“Um, hey? Anything new happening in the case?” Yuuri greets with a little smile, blissfully unaware of the hurricane Yuri is about to unleash. The detective turns back to Victor, a smile stretching over his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“Hey, don’t give such a face. He’ll understand, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ep 12 man OTL 
> 
> season 2 OTL x2
> 
> merry christmas everybody


	3. Chapter 3

Victor Nikiforov was eight years, nine months, four weeks and one day old when he became familiar with the concept of lying. 

Victor’s father was a man that knew what to say to people to get what he wanted. He had a glint in his eyes, a spark to his smile, and a voice that oozed charisma even when the most venomous words passed his lips.

On the rare days where Victor’s father allowed him to tag along to work at the dealership – because apparently, women _love_ to see a man providing for his child and will be more willing to purchase a car so Victor doesn’t go hungry – Victor would watch silently from inside.

His father worked the customers and milked every bit of money he could squeeze, scamming unaware housewives and young teens in search of their first car with his blueblue eyes and unassuming smile.

Victor never was around to see what would become of his father’s lies and the customers that he robbed money from, but always knew that no customer left unhappy when they had a conversation with him. 

When Victor’s father called the house to let his wife know that he’d be late for dinner, Victor knew he was lying. But he also realized that the truth of his father’s whereabouts – whether that be with his new assistant of the week or a customer looking for some comfort in the backseat of their brand new car – would be much more painful for his mother to take. The strained smile of her trying to explain that yet again, his father wouldn’t be here for dinner, was far more bearable than the sure to be tears in her eyes.

To Victor, it was a lie that did more good than harm. It was better to just keep his mother in blissful unawareness, and to hold onto the façade of a happy family life for as long as he could.

When his mother died, there was no further need to keep the pretense up.

Victor’s new home was the Longborough School for Boys, far away from the trauma of his mother’s and Yuuri’s father’s deaths. He’s now far away from his dearest Yuuri, whom he left with tears in his big, brown eyes.

When his father unloaded all of Victor’s luggage, he turned to the boy and got to his knees to look him directly in his eyes. He smiled that smile of his, that smile that always made you feel better but also made you fearful for the words to come after.

“I’ll be back,” his father lied, and brushed Victor’s hair behind his ear as a gesture of comfort to make the lie just a bit sweeter.

And with that, he was gone out of Victor’s life for good, and Victor was alone. Victor understood that lies were painful, were cowardly and conniving like his father was. But lying sometimes made things so much more pleasant to deal with than the truth.

For Victor, who was cursed with this gift that he could never tell anyone about and lost the only people he ever loved, he only wanted to deal with the pleasantries and ignore the painful aspects of life. If lying was a way to give that to him, then that was what he needed to do.

 

Now in the present time, Victor’s lie is about to burst. 

“Something wrong?” Yuuri asks, concerned. He looks between Victor and Yuri as he approaches, eyes seeking an answer. Yuri grunts, looking at Victor expectantly. The young detective isn’t a person that likes to dance around pretenses, Victor knows this. Yuri Plisetsky is the type of person to prefer ripping the band-aid off instead of nudging it off inch by inch. If Victor doesn’t give a straight-forward answer now, Yuri will have no problem doing it for him. 

“I. . .It’s something with the investigation, yes. Yura and I have someplace we need to go so I just need _you_ to stay here and-”

“But I thought you said I could come along. You know,” Yuuri says, blush breaking out over the bridge of his nose as he cracks a gentle smile, “like Batman and Robin?”

“We’re both Batman and we don’t need a Robin to tag along,” Yuri says with eyebrows brooding.

“Actually, you’re Batgirl in this scenario. Or Alfred, we didn't come to an agreement,” Victor quietly corrects.

“ _HAH?!_ ”

“Yuuri, my dearest, don’t you think that it might be a little bit. . .traumatic to have to-” Victor begins, but stops when he sees Yuuri’s lips turn into a frown.

“Are you trying to say that I can’t handle investigating because it’s my murder?” Yuuri asks. There’s a tinge of annoyance in Yuuri’s voice, and Victor swallows down a nervous lump in his throat. “I understand that you’re concerned about me, but I’m not weak. I can handle this and I want to help you any way that I can. Three heads are better than two, right? We work together, solve my murder, and split the reward three-ways. 30-30-40.”

Victor says “I thought you didn’t want the reward” at the exact same time Yuri barks out “Three-way _split?_ ”.

Yuuri crosses his arms. “I just didn’t want _you_ to only want my reward,” Yuuri explains, then turns his attention to Yuri. “And _yes_ , a three-way split. I want my forty percent to be donated back to my mother’s inn,” Yuuri says. He then adds when he sees Yuri’s jaw twist into a scowl, “I _did_ die for it, it’s only fair I get more.”

“This isn’t up for discussion. You can’t come to this particular place that we’re going. We’ll come back here, pick you up, and continue our crime fighting where we left off,” Victor says, trying to keep the smile on his lips. Most likely, they’ll be heading straight to the morgue to talk with Celestino and get the needed information.

“What’s this ‘particular place’ that you’re going?”

“It’s nothing that you need to concern yourself with-”

“I thought that you’ll answer any and _all_ questions I have. Why are you trying to push me away again?” Yuuri snaps, hands tightening into fists. “I’m not seven years old anymore, Victor. Will you please stop treating me like I’m this fragile little thing and just _talk to me?_ ”

“I _am_. I _will_. I just – I need to –”

“We’re going to the morgue. Your coach is dead and we need his testimony as to where he was on the night of your murder as well as any suspicious characters he’s seen hanging around,” Yuri cuts Victor off before this roundabout conversation can go on for another second.

Silence envelops the kitchen. Yuuri has a split second to process just what the younger man has just said, before his hands fly to cover his mouth twisting into a horrified grimace. His eyes grow wide, a small whimper escaping past his lips.

“W- _What?_ ”

Victor grabs Yuri by the shoulder and forces the investigator to face him and his dark glare hiding behind the sparkle of his eyes.

“You had no right to say that-”

“Otabek is going to be leaving soon and we don’t have the time for this,” Yuri spits and smacks Victor’s hand away. “Now are you going to tell him the rest, or are you going to make me have to explain?” Yuri questions. Victor’s eyebrows pull downwards, trying hard to conceal his anger and failing terribly at it.

“What ‘rest’? What happened? Did he. . .was it my killer?” Yuuri asks. He approaches carefully, hands at his side and eyes _begging_ to know. “Is my killer going after people I know? Is my family safe?”

“No, no it wasn’t your killer that killed him,” Victor says.

“So someone _else_ killed him?”

“Something like that,” Yuri says flatly and Victor digs his elbow in Yuri’s side to shut him up. Yuuri bites his lower lip.

“Victor. . .please, you need to bring him back,” Yuuri says, continuing to speak when Victor tries to open his mouth to protest, “I know that you said it might cause trouble but maybe, maybe we could explain it away! Like, maybe they made a mistake and he wasn’t really dead and it was a miracle that he’s alive and-“

“This guy was in the fridge for _over_ twenty-four hours. You can’t just say it’s a fucking miracle he’s still alive,” Yuri snaps and Yuuri frowns.

“Well if Victor can bring him back, then I don’t see why it’s a problem-”

“Victor, I’m going to tell him-”

“Can everyone just stop talking for a moment?” Victor pleads. His head is starting to hurt and the room seems to get a little bit hotter. His palms are sweating for some reason, and he feels his heart quickening in his chest to the point of it being absolutely _painful_. Yuuri turns to Victor.

“How did Celestino die? If it’s something not too gruesome, there’s a chance that he could go back to living a somewhat normal life, right? And it’s not like you’ll be in close contact with him, so it’s not like you have to worry about another dead person you might accidentally touch. Victor, Celestino is a good man and if someone killed him then we need to find out who and-”

“ _No one_ killed him, okay?” Victor snaps, voice hard and frustrated. “Celestino died. . .because I kept you alive,” Victor says, the lie that was supposed to slip past his lips changing into the truth at the last second. “I mean. . .I guess if you want to get technical about it, maybe I am a killer. But it’s not like I was trying to kill _him_. It’s a random proximity thing. I can’t control who it chooses. It’s just. . .it’s just something that happened-”

". . .What?" Yuuri says, the word not sounding more like a question, but a statement. Confusion swirls in Yuuri's eyes, trying to understand what Victor is saying to him as Victor can't find the words to make this situation disappear. 

". . .In order for me to bring someone back past their minute. . .someone has to die in their place," Victor mutters, like he doesn't really want to answer. He thinks about his father's smile, how even the most unpleasant things he said just seemed better framed with that smile. He wonders if he smiles now will the nerves crawling through his throat and ache in his gut somehow disappear, and he can go back to being suave and cool and collected like he still has everything together.

“You killed Celestino. . .for me?” Yuuri asks, voice steady. His expression is unreadable, which makes Victor feel even more guilt welling in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t _kill_ anyone. It’s. . .it’s like involuntary manslaughter-”

“Call it whatever you want, you _knew_ it was going to happen! All this time. . .all this time you knew that my life that you gave back to me wasn’t even _mine_ to begin with and you didn’t tell me?” Now Victor hears the hurt in Yuuri’s voice. Betrayal. Confusion. Anger. Victor feels his tongue growing heavy in his mouth as he flounders for what to say next.

“I didn’t want to make you feel the way you’re feeling now-”

“Really? Well I’m feeling really _angry_ that you didn’t tell me about this! So, I’m sure I wouldn’t be feeling this way now had you just _told_ me. Were you ever going to tell me? Is this like the reward and you were just waiting for me to stumble upon it? Are there any _more_ secrets that you’re keeping from me?!”

“No,” Victor lies.

Yuuri twists his lips in a frown. Then, without another word, he promptly turns on his heel and steps out of the kitchen. Victor follows immediately, Yuri at his heels. He pushes through the doors, seeing Yuuri grabbing his coat and placing on his coverings. Mila and Phichit are tending to customers, but watching the scene out of the corners of their eyes.

“Yuuri, wait-” Yuuri pulls on his gloves and his face mask, tugging on his beanie cap despite the warm weather.

“I’m not seven-years-old anymore, and you’re not the same either,” Yuuri speaks, voice slightly muffled by speaking through the mask. He looks at Victor over his shoulder. “I’m going back to the apartment to think, okay? I just. . .I just want to be alone,” Yuuri says. Victor feels his shoulders sag.

“. . .Okay. . .Yuuri, I-” Victor pauses. He closes his mouth and considers what he wants to say. Saying that he’s sorry won’t sound genuine, but merely a phrase to keep Yuuri from storming away in a huff. There’s no time to explain that in the one moment he made that choice, he didn’t care about the consequences or that he even considered the choice he made was the wrong choice when he looked in Yuuri’s eyes. Even now, with those beautiful eyes looking at him filled with worry, confusion and pain, Victor doesn’t regret the choice.

He truly is a selfish man.

So, he tells Yuuri what powers his selfish want to have the figure skater stay by his side, something that will always be the truth.

“I love you,” Victor says quietly. Yuuri bristles in his spot for a brief second, turns his head to the ground, then his body relaxes.

“. . .I love you too. . .but I don’t want to look at you right now. . .okay?”

“. . .Okay. . .get home safely,” Victor murmurs.

Yuuri hums. Victor catches a glimpse of Yuuri’s eyes before the figure skater turns away from him and exits out the doors. Victor watches him go, only leaving from his spot when Yuuri is out of his line of sight. When he turns, Yuri is standing right behind him and waiting. Victor runs a hand through his hair, pushing the fringe out of his eyes.

“Are you satisfied?” Victor asks, tone mildly scathing.

“At first, yes. I mean, you let someone else die that _could_ have been me and up until now, you didn't give a shit because corpse spouse showed back up in your life,” Yuri mutters low under his breath in case Phichit or Mila are listening in. Yuri squares his shoulders and slips his hands into the pockets of his blazer.

“If _I_ were the one that was dead instead, would you just say ‘fuck it, as long as I have my boy toy, I’m peachy-keen?’ and go back to making pies until this shithole of yours went bankrupt?” Yuri asks.

“Of course not. I would have brought you back and. . .” Victor closes his eyes and sighs. Then he’d just be killing _another_ person. It’s not like his gift picks and chooses which life to take based on how it was lived. Death comes for everyone in the end, and Victor made it come quicker for Celestino just to keep it away from Yuuri. He rubs his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” Victor apologizes and drops his hands to his side. “I admit that what I did was irresponsible and with great power comes great responsibilities.”

“Why the fuck are you two making comic book references?” Yuri questions. He shakes his head and looks at his watch, before he turns his eyes to Victor and furrows his eyebrows. “Well, I’d say let’s go. . .but that look in your eyes says that if we leave now, you’ll be bitching and complaining to me about how what you can do to make it up to corpse spouse,” Yuri grumbles.

He sighs through his nose. “I’ll call Otabek. Get me a slice of rhubarb.”

“There’s no rhubarb in the oven,” Victor says as Yuri passes by him on his way out. Yuri turns, scowl twisting on his lips.

“Then _make one_.” With that, Yuri steps outside to make his call. Victor stares at the door for a few seconds, before he turns and walks towards the kitchen. When he passes by the counter where Mila is preparing an espresso order for a customer, she clears her throat.

“Do you want to talk, boss?” Mila asks. Victor glances at her through his fringe. She’s giving a soft smile, open for a discussion that if Victor tried to tell her, she’ll never understand. Yet, the simple gesture of offering is enough for Victor to feel just a little bit of tension escape out of his shoulder and his spine. He shakes his head ‘no’, smiling soft.

“I’m fine. Machine is working, right?” Victor asks and Mila turns her attention to the espresso machine, running her hand along the side.

“If you hit it a couple of times, it works okay,” she mentions. Victor gives a quiet ‘ah’, nods his head, and makes a mental note to call someone to look at it later on in the week. He enters the kitchen and lets out a breath, rubbing his palms together. Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at the clock. It’s just half past noon; the lunch rush will start coming through before he realizes it. All he can do is just let time pass, and let things just happen the way they need to.

 

* * *

 

It’s two o’clock when Yuuri comes back to the pie shop and Yuri finishes three slices of rhubarb pie with coffee. Victor cooks up some blackberry pie for delivery and is pulling it out of the oven when the kitchen doors push open and Yuuri steps in. His face has a moot expression, not sad or angry, but Victor does see the rims of Yuuri’s eyes are puffy and red from having a good cry. 

“Hey,” Victor says, setting the hot pie onto a cooling rack and slipping off his mitts. Yuuri wraps arms around himself.

“Hey,” he responds. Yuuri twists the toe of his shoe into the checkerboard linoleum floor, considering his words and what he wants to say. Victor stands there and watches him quietly, his hands wringing his apron tied around his waist.

“. . .I want to talk to Celestino,” Yuuri says and Victor bites the inside of his cheek. When he doesn’t speak out against Yuuri’s request, the figure skater continues. “I understand if you can’t bring him back. . .well, I _sort of_ understand. I still need to figure out how this whole dead-alive-dead thing works. But if his life is the reason why I’m back with you, I want to at least tell him that I’ll make sure it wasn’t a waste.”

“. . .Okay,” Victor murmurs. Yuuri sucks in a breath, nodding his head.

“Also, I want you to talk to him too.”

Victor blinks. “Why me?”

“To say you’re sorry,” Yuuri explains, twiddling his fingers. Victor tosses around the idea in his head and places his hands behind his back, then he nods his head in agreement and unties his apron. Yuuri steps to the side as Victor approaches, eyes looking up at him expectantly. All’s not forgiven just yet, but they are slowly moving in that general direction. For that, Victor feels slightly at ease.

The two exit out of the kitchen just as Yuri pushes his empty plate forward. He looks between the two men, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Are we _finally_ going to go?” Yuri asks, checking his watch. Victor nods his head, then tilts it towards Yuuri.

“He’s coming along too,” Victor says. Yuri blinks, glancing over at Yuuri, then back at Victor.

“Why? I don’t need him there. Or _want_ him there,” Yuri says and then leans in closer. “Unless you’re planning on sticking him back in the fridge?”

“No,” both Yuuri and Victor state and Yuri frowns. Yuuri places his palms together in a quiet plea.

“You won’t even know I’m there, _promise_. I’ll be as quiet as the dead. . .or. . .you know what I mean.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into the pockets of his blazer. He turns on his heel and strides right out the door without even sparing the other two another glance. Yuuri turns to Victor, eyes puzzled. In response, Victor gives him a thumbs-up, and both quickly chase after the young detective to settle their matters.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not down here to only say hello, are you?” The question sounds more like a statement. 

Yuri gives a strained little laugh. “Well I am saying hello still. And also, we just need to go and see the body of the figure skating coach I was talking to you about. I think there might be something tying to the Yuuri Katsuki murder,” Yuri tries to explain.

Otabek Altin -  the county coroner, Yuri Plisetsky’s long-time friend, and person willing to ignore why a piemaker is tagging along to visit a morgue – glances behind the detective at Victor and Yuuri. He furrows his eyebrows at Yuuri, who keeps his face turned downwards to the floor.

“He died of a heart attack. I don’t think it has any connection,” Otabek explains with a straight face and Yuri nods his head.

“I know that. I just. . .have a small hunch that maybe there’s a clue to the Yuuri Katsuki murder.”

“A hunch,” Otabek repeats. Yuri nods his head.

Some sort of mental communication happens between them that gets expressed by the way Yuri raises and pulls his eyebrows and the number of blinks Otabek does. But it doesn’t take long for Otabek to grab his keys and gesture for Yuri to follow him to the morgue with the others trailing after his white coat.

Otabek is silent when he pulls open the door and pulls out the slab with a body shrouded by a light blue cloth. His gloved hands pull back the sheet to reveal Celestino’s still face. Beside him, Yuuri turns his head away and tangles his fingers into the material of his coat, wishing that it was someone’s hand.

Otabek looks at Yuri and Victor. “You’re going to do your thing?” he asks and Yuri nods his head. Otabek never questions just why Yuri and Victor need to be alone while Yuri makes his analysis, nor does he wonders just how are they able to get the information needed when he and the police already took every possible route to come to their conclusion. He just gives a grunt,  and leaves them to business.

The second that the door closes, Victor gives a gentle smile. “When are you going to tell me how you two do that mental telepathy thing?” Victor asks with a little laugh.

“Shut up and touch him,” Yuri spits, nodding to Celestino. Victor readies his watch, glancing over to Yuuri who is pulling his sunglasses off his nose and replacing them with his normal glasses.

“You ready?”

“. . .Yeah,” Yuuri breathes, nodding his head. Victor starts the time and lightly prods Celestino against the underside of his jaw. Light sparks beneath Celestino’s skin and his eyes fly open in surprise. He turns his head from side to side, taking in his surroundings and the stark bright lights above him, before he pushes himself onto his elbows and meets Victor’s eyes.

“Who are you?” the Italian man questions and Victor swallows a dry lump in his throat.

“Um, I’m sorry. For killing you. But I didn’t _really_ kill you, it was more like my power just randomly chose you because you were within a certain radius of me and had I known it would have killed you I _probably_ wouldn’t have done – actually I shouldn't say that because-”

“Were you that creep I saw trying to take pictures of Yuuri?” Celestino accuses with a frown. Both Yuris step forward.

“He’s not a creep, Celestino,” Yuuri reassures while Yuri asks, “What creep are you talking about?”

Celestino pays attention to only his student that is now by his side, eyes widening in surprise and happiness.

“Yuuri! Ciao Ciao!” he exclaims, taking Yuuri’s hands into his own. “Ah, so you must be my welcoming committee, huh?” Celestino says with a resigned sigh. Yuuri smiles, squeezing his coach’s hands.

“Well, not exactly. It’s more like a reunion, since I’m still alive and. . .and you’re the one that’s dead instead,” Yuuri explains. Celestino pauses for a minute, then registers that the room they're in is indeed a morgue. Yuuri sucks in a breath. “I-I’m sorry that this happened, Celestino. There’s still so much that you haven’t done yet-”

“Was this some sort of spell or human sacrifice?” Celestino asks out of confusion and Yuuri turns to glance at Victor, before back to his coach.

“I’m not entirely sure how it works just yet. But, I _swear_ that I’m not going to let your death be meaningless and we’re going to find my killer and I’m _so sorry this happened_ -” Celestino pulls his right hand free from Yuuri’s hands to rub his shoulder.

“Don’t work yourself up like that. Take a deep breath,” Celestino says in a nurturing tone. Yuuri does just that, inhaling deep and exhaling out slow. Celestino smiles. “That’s better. You have the smile of a winner, Yuuri. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah," Yuuri's shaky voice answers as his lips curl into a weak smile.

“Twenty-five seconds,” Victor reminds. Yuri opens his mouth to ask about the person that Celestino saw, but Celestino points a finger at Victor.

“Who’s this guy again?” he asks and Yuuri laughs.

“Um, he’s Victor,” Yuuri answers. Celestino raises his eyebrows and Yuuri nods his head. “Yeah, _that_ Victor.”

Celestino beams. “You found him! That’s great, Yuuri! Hey, you better take care of him, you here?” Celestino snaps and Victor nods his head. Yuri starts shuffling from left and right in an agitated shuffle.

“The creep! What about the creep you saw?!” Yuri questions aloud and Celestino furrows his eyebrows.

“I couldn’t see his face, it was covered up by a scarf and-”

“Ten seconds,” Victor says urgently.

“W-Wait, wait-” Yuuri quickly pleads, grabbing hold of Celestino’s hands.

“I can’t, Yuuri. Random selection is going to begin in five-”

“I’ll be alright, Yuuri. You got your second chance, use it well, okay?” Celestino says amid the rush. Yuuri doesn’t have any time to reassure him, or to promise him, or to even say goodbye, before Victor quickly touches Celestino and returns him back to the dead once more.

Everything is silent once more. Yuuri brings his hands to his mouth and closes his eyes, while Yuri sticks his hands into his pockets and bites the inside of his cheek. He breathes in deep through his nose, turning his face up towards the bright sterile lights.

“So we got ourselves a creep to find,” Yuri grumbles, rubbing his chin. Yuuri wraps arms around himself, looking at Celestino’s still and cold body. He’s quiet and unmoving, eyes swelling with hurt and guilt.

“. . .What are you thinking about, Yuuri?” Victor asks. Yuuri releases a sigh and pulls his lower lip in between his teeth.

“I. . .I don’t know,” he admits, voice cracking. “I feel guilty. And upset. And confused. On one hand, I’m alive again and I’m with you. But on the other hand, I’m alive again. . .but I can’t touch you. Or kiss you. Or see my mother and Mari again. Or be seen by anyone that might recognize me as that dead figure skater from the news. . .so it really doesn’t feel like I’m living at all. Celestino had other students and he had his own life and I just-” 

Yuuri turns his face towards the ground and he shrugs his shoulders. “I. . .there’s no way that you can. . .just give it back?” Yuuri asks quietly. Victor feels his heart sink just a bit in his chest at the thought.

“No. Once it’s been taken, it can’t be given back. If I touched you now, we’ll just have two bodies in the morgue,” Victor says. Yuuri looks up into Victor’s eyes, sparkling behind his glasses.

“Well. . .if I can’t give it back, then I want to be able to find some way to share it with the ones I love,” Yuuri says, frustrated. He huffs, rubbing his face with his hands and letting them fall limp at his sides. Victor looks at Yuuri’s hand, wishing to curl his fingers around it and bring it to his lips to kiss along each knuckle. The pain of not being able to offer his love comfort claws at his heart and his throat to the point that he can’t even croak out words to at least ease some of the hurt.

“. . .Come on you two. We have one more stop,” Yuri calls out, shaking them from their melancholic thoughts. They glance up to see the detective already walking to the door, his hand reaching out for the handle.

“Where else are we going? You have another lead?” Victor asks and Yuri nods his head.

“We might not find much about that creep he was talking about, but we might find some information that will help strengthen my hunch on what the motive for murder is,” Yuri says, pushing open the door and continuing out of the morgue. Victor blinks. A motive? Already? He glances out of Yuuri at the corner of his eye, who is looking just as nervous. The skater glances over to him, then quickly averts his eyes.

“We should. . .we should hurry after him,” Yuuri croaks out, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his fingertips. Victor gives a slow nod of the head in response, allowing Yuuri to exit first before he slowly follows after.

 

* * *

 

Bambora, known for dressing gold-winning athletes and specializing in the hottest accessories of footwear and sports apparel, is the building that Yuri parks in front of approximately two hours, five minutes and two seconds later. 

Victor raises a confused eyebrow and turns to the detective readying his notepad. “Why here?” Victor asks and Yuri juts a thumb at Yuuri in the backseat.

“Corspe spouse didn’t tell you? He had a contract with these people to become a spokesperson for their newest brand,” Yuri explains and Victor turns to look at Yuuri with a surprised expression. The blond man scoffs. “You two need to stop with all this ‘hiding information’ shit. It’s getting in the way of the investigation and I do not _like_ things getting in the way of the investigation.”

“Well me having a contract deal isn’t important. Not like accidental involuntary manslaughter or something like that,” Yuuri defends himself.

“Am I going to be the bad guy of the hour here?” Victor says, raising his hands in a ‘what gives’ gesture. Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t think you're a killer or anything, Victor-” Yuuri tries to console, but Yuri unbuckles his seatbelt with a loud click and opens up his door.

“You two argue about your feelings while I get actual work done and don’t have to stick around to hear it,” Yuri spits and slams the door shut. Victor unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car as well, waiting until Yuuri dons his disguise in a quick rush before they dash after the detective. They catch Yuri just as he enters the reception area, Victor clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder to squeeze.

“Hey, hey! Come on, Yura! We’re all investigating together! We’re a team! Batman, Robin and Batgirl-slash-Alfred, remember!” Victor says with a gently prod of his finger to Yuri’s cheek and a heart-shaped smile. Yuri smacks Victor’s hand away and adjusts his tie, heading to the receptionist desk and ignoring Victor’s words.

Victor gives a glance around at the interior of the lobby, at the sterile white walls and art deco chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. This place doesn’t _seem_ to deal with sportswear; it appears to associate itself more along the lines of high end fashion like Armani and Prada. He glances over at Yuuri, who is adjusting the way his scarf covers the lower half of his face and his oversized sunglasses.

“This place is pretty fancy,” Victor muses. “Did you become a glamorous model with your face all over Paris and London and New York?” Victor asks with a little smile.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” Yuuri says, but through his scarf tightly wound around his mouth, it sounds more like ‘mof mnfff noff nnngh fe mnnffgg’. For some reason, Victor understands regardless.

Yuri approaches them a minute later with identification cards for both of them and juts a thumb towards the golden elevators off to their left.

“Come on, let’s go,” Yuri says and the two older men give a nod of the head in understanding. They follow Yuri to the elevator and wait as he presses the button to call the elevator down from the upper floors. The small dial begins to count backwards from ten, Yuri slipping his hands into the pockets of his blazer while Victor watches the dial.

A few seconds into waiting for the elevator, Yuuri mumbles something and Yuri frowns. “What did you say?” he asks.

“He said the time on these identification cards is wrong. It’s three hours ahead,” Victor translates, looking at his own card himself. Yuri rolls his eyes and faces forward to the doors to ignore them.

“. . .What kind of motive do you think you’ll confirm here? Are we still on the ‘someone that Yuuri knew was the one that killed him’ train?” Victor asks and Yuri nods his head. The doors slide open, Victor carefully placing his hands behind him as all three stroll inside the enclosed space. Yuuri hugs the wall and Victor stands on the opposite side with Yuri in between.

“Corpse spouse was in the running to become the spokesperson for this new brand, right? There was another person that was in consideration to be picked. I’m thinking that if there’s no other competition, that’s an easy way to become the spokesperson,” Yuri mutters with a rub of his chin.

Yuuri says something in protest that is muffled by his scarf and Yuri frowns.

“He said ‘the only people that were in the running were him and JJ and JJ wouldn’t have done something like kill him for the spot’,” Victor translates again. Yuri scoffs, looking at Yuuri from head to toe.

“You’re telling me that egotistical brat wouldn’t throw a temper tantrum and have you bumped off so he could hog the spotlight?” Yuri questions, then raises a finger when he sees Yuuri try to take in a breath and speak. “Take that stupid thing off.”

Yuuri unravels the scarf just a bit so it is loose around his mouth. “First off, he’s the same age as you. Second, I know me and JJ weren’t necessarily _close_ , but not to the point of him wanting me _dead_. What other motive could there be?” Yuuri explains. Victor blinks, looking between the two Yuris.

“Uh, who is JJ again?” he asks and Yuri rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he huffs. “I’ll explain so that way, you two won’t interrupt with any questions while _I_ conduct the interview,” Yuri snaps.

And the explanation is this:

Jean-Jacques Leroy, known otherwise as JJ, is known as an egotistical brat to Yuri Plisetsky, an acquaintance to Yuuri Katsuki, and the golden boy of figure skating to his thousands of adoring fans. Amazingly talented with the face to charm the masses and the personality to sway everyone to follow him, JJ is the man that would be perfect as the face for Bambora’s newest line. And if there was a way to edge out the competition permanently, Yuri Plisetsky believes that JJ would take that chance.

Only, when the elevator doors slid open and they stepped out into the hallway did he realize that isn’t entirely the case.

Instead of being met with hundreds of promotional ads for JJ and standees and posters with JJ’s face and obnoxious hand sign, they were met with the black and white image of Yuuri Katsuki, elegant and poised. Faintly, Victor hears Yuuri gasping in surprise, and sees him quickly fiddle with his coverings to make sure he doesn’t get identified.

“Ah, hello!” a voice greets them from down the hall and all three heads turn to face the man that approaches them with a salesman smile and arms gesturing outwards at all the images of Yuuri Katsuki surrounding them. “Welcome! I’m Hisashi Morooka, my receptionist said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yuri Plisetsky, private investigator. Why is Yuuri Katsuki’s face all over the walls instead of Jean-Jacques Leroy?” Yuri questions, not even giving a second to glance down at the hand outstretched towards him. Morooka blinks, retreating his hand back to clear his throat and look upon the image of Yuuri’s face.

“Well, he’s our spokesperson for our latest brand. It’s currently untitled, but we’ll be having a meeting-”

“Dead people can’t be spokespersons. They can’t _talk_ ,” Yuri states. Behind him, Yuuri awkwardly fidgets in his spot. Morooka turns his eyebrows down at Yuri and crosses his arms.

“Well, I’ll have you know that not all spokespeople promote brands with their mouths. Sometimes, even just being an image associated with a brand is enough to sell. And Yuuri Katsuki _is_ the face for our newest brand. His essence and mysterious beauty is _just_ perfect, even though he is no longer with us.”

“This isn’t some cheap tactic to ride the publicity of Yuuri’s death to make profit, is it?” Victor asks with a raised eyebrow. Morooka looks over at Victor with a raised eyebrow, then at Yuuri who is standing not too close by. Morooka stiffens and so does Yuuri, who quickly turns his face down to the ground.

“. . .Uh. . .” Morooka lets out a chuckle and steps over to Yuuri who is still keeping his head ducked low. “Um, excuse me. Has anyone ever told you-”

“They have,” Victor interjects, stepping in front of Yuuri and shielding him from Morooka’s curious eyes. Morooka steps back, looking at Victor confused, before he shrugs it off and focuses his attentions on Victor.

“To answer your question, _no_. This isn’t some cheap tactic to make money off Yuuri Katsuki’s untimely and unfortunate death. I’m actually quite a huge fan of Yuuri Katsuki’s, and I wouldn’t even think about using him in a way like you’re suggesting,” Morooka says defensively.

“Really? What’s your favorite program?” Victor asks with a passive smile.

“That’s not important,” Yuri grits through his teeth and yanks Victor out of the way. “Look, you’re a fan, whatever. Don’t you think that maybe other people might not be so ecstatic that you’re picking someone dead to represent your brand?”

Morooka frowns. “People like who? Like Isabella Yang and Jean-Jacques Leroy?”

“Well if you have the specifics,” Yuri says, reaching for his notepad in his inner pocket. Morooka nods his head ‘yes’, slipping his hands into the pockets of his long coat.

“Well, I know for a fact that Isabella was the one most upset with the decision for Yuuri to be our spokesperson long before his death. She didn’t think that he had what it took to sell Bambora and even went as far as to steal a prototype outfit and Yuuri Katsuki’s contract to stall the efforts of the campaign to move any further. We were only lucky to do the photoshoot at Ice Castle these past few days, but we’re still very far behind,” Morooka says with a heavy sigh.

“How long has Ice Castle been closed?” Victor asks and Morooka scratches his chin.

“I want to say at least four days. They closed immediately the day after Yuuri’s death to mourn, and we’ve used the facility for the three days after. Just taking pictures of where Yuuri had practiced,” Morooka explains and then shakes his head. “Isabella and Jean-Jacques Leroy have been missing since Yuuri’s death as well. I don’t want to point any fingers or anything, but they seem to be acting suspicious.”

“So you’re pointing the finger at them for being involved in the murder?” Yuri asks and Morooka shrugs.

“Well, Isabella _did_ try to stall Yuuri from becoming our spokesperson. I wouldn’t put it past her to get desperate in trying to make JJ the star she thinks he is,” Morooka says with a distasteful tone. Yuri hums, scribbling down something on his notepad before his shoulders relax and he looks back to Morooka.

“What about you? Where were you on the night of the murder?” Yuri questions and Morooka laughs.

“Here, unfortunately. I was working on the project and left at midnight to head straight home. I’m sure that my secretary could print out a sheet showing all people that entered and exited the building on the night of the murder if you ask her,” Morooka says and shakes his head. “The last time that I saw Yuuri Katsuki was a week before his death to go over the last-minute details of his contract. Isabella stole it the next day.”

“You’re very sure that Isabella Yang stole this contract?”

“She’s the only one that I can think of would have a reason _to_ steal it. JJ’s contract is still in my office untouched,” Morooka says, annoyed. He sighs and looks back at Yuuri’s image. “She never thought that Yuuri should be the spokesperson. She didn’t want to dress him or to even consider putting him at the same level as JJ. If either of them had any decency, they’d return the prototype and Yuuri’s contract to make peace of their crime.”

“But maybe she was right,” Yuuri’s voice suddenly speaks up, and Victor looks to his side. Yuuri has his eyes turned to the pictures of him hanging on the wall, mysterious and alluring to the eyes and nothing at all like the person that stands in the flesh. “Maybe JJ should have been the one to become the spokesperson. He’s. . .he’s the better skater. He has the better personality. . .”

Morooka scoffs, looking at Yuuri with a raised eyebrow before he turns his attention to the portraits.

“ _I_ am the head designer and lead on this project. I know that Yuuri Katsuki is the perfect choice. He had everything I was looking for, everything that I wanted in someone that would be wearing my line. His face, those eyes, those lips-”

“You’re selling a _sports brand_ , not a beauty line. If JJ was the better out of the two of them, then he should have been the one chosen,” Yuri cuts off, eyebrows furrowed in sudden agitation. “It just sounds to me like you have a hard-on for Yuuri Katsuki.”

Morooka is silent for a moment, before he closes his eyes and sighs.

“Clearly you don’t appreciate Yuuri Katsuki in the same way that I do," Morooka says with a frown.

“No, and I don’t think I want to either,” Yuri says flatly.

Morooka shrugs. “Then I’ve told you all that I need to. If you’ll excuse me, I _do_ have business I need to attend to-”

“Did you attend Yuuri Katsuki’s funeral?” Yuri suddenly asks, and Victor knows the angle that the detective is trying to play. Morooka seems to realize that Yuri is accusing him of something as well, since he bristles in his spot and squares his shoulders.

“. . .Yes, I did,” Morooka answers and folds his hand behind his back. “Was I not allowed to be there to pay my respects to someone that I have worked with?”

“Not if you were there to be creepy like you are now-”

“N-No, it’s fine that you were there to see him,” Yuuri interjects, reaching out to grab Yuri by his arm. “We don’t want to trouble you any longer. We’ll be leaving now.”

Yuri gives him a glare, while Morooka adjusts his tie and clears his throat.

“That’s fine with me,” Morooka says. Yuri whirls his head back to Morooka.

“Hey! I’m the one still conducting the investigation-”

“I’m done answering your questions, Mr. Plisetsky. If you want more information, you should fine Isabella Yang and Jean-Jacques Leroy,” Morooka says without even glancing up into Yuri’s angry eyes. Without another word and one last glance over at Yuuri’s figure slightly hiding behind Yuri, he turns on his heel and walks back to his office at the other end of the hall.

“We should leave before he thinks we need to be escorted out,” Victor mutters low and Yuri yanks his arm out of Yuuri’s hold, spinning around with his lips twisting into a snarl.

“What the _fuck?_ You don’t dismiss suspects, _I do_ ,” Yuri snaps. Yuuri rubs his arm, shifting from left to right in an uncomfortable motion as he looks at the pictures.

“I just. . .I don’t know. Celestino was familiar with Morooka. He didn’t like him, but he knew his face. If he was the creep at the funeral, wouldn’t he have just said his name?” Yuuri suggests.

Yuri blinks. “Celestino _said_ it was _covered_. And you’re not going to look me in the eye and tell me you felt comfortable while he was going on and on about you like some creepy stalker,” Yuri snaps. His eyes shoot over to look at Victor and Victor bites his lower lip.

He has to agree; just listening to Morooka talk about Yuuri rubbed Victor the wrong way. It isn’t a feeling like jealousy that fills Victor’s mouth and crawls up his spine, its discomfort and concern. He doesn’t blame Celestino for not liking him, Victor’s not sure if he likes Morooka either.

Yuuri is silent, turning his eyes to the floor. Yuri clicks his tongue, bumping against Yuri as he goes past and begins to head to the elevator. “Yeah, didn’t think so,” he mutters. He looks at Victor and pauses at the piemaker’s side. “I humored you with him tagging along. He cut my time short with Celestino and he got in the way of my questioning. He better not tag along with us on the investigation anymore.”

He bumps against Victor too, harder than he is with Yuuri, and continues to the elevator doors. Victor rubs his arm, looking at the detective’s retreating back before he turns to Yuuri hanging his head and twiddling his fingers.

“. . .I. . .I’m sorry for-”

“Don’t apologize,” Victor cuts off, and Yuuri’s eyes look up as Victor’s soft smile comes over his lips. “We both messed up during this investigation, that’s why we’re not the professionals here,” Victor murmurs and glances over his shoulder at Yuri as he presses the button to summon the elevator to their floor.

“That’s not a good enough excuse for how I still feel like I’m just being useless to help him. I should have just kept my big mouth shut,” Yuuri mumbles and Victor chuckles.

“Useless is sitting around breaming with potential to do something but choosing not to. You’ve never been useless, Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor reassures. He can’t see it, but he knows that beneath the scarf, Yuuri is smiling at him.

“You would say something like that,” he says quietly. Victor smiles.

“And I’ll say it a thousand times more until you know just how wanted and loved you truly are,” Victor says, meaning every single word.

Yuuri breathes in deep and he exhales out a sigh that makes Victor feel weak in his legs and lets a sigh past his lips that is just as dreamy and warm with desire. They spend a moment to look at each other, until Victor feels his arms go around to hold himself and give a light squeeze. It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to do the same, wrapping arms around himself in a hug that is tight and imagining what it’s like to feel Victor’s arms holding him the same way.

“Oi! The elevator is here!” Yuri shouts and Victor looks over his shoulder.

“Coming!” Victor shouts back. He turns and gestures with a hand towards the elevator doors that are now sliding open. “Shall we, my dearest Yuuri?”

Yuuri laughs and gives a nod of the head, taking the lead while Victor follows and wishes to walk side by side.

 

* * *

 

Yuri is silent for most of the drive home and doesn’t comment when Yuuri gives his apology for throwing a wrench in Yuri’s investigation for the day. Victor knows that the detective is trying to think of a plan of action now, silent and pensive and wanting to hurry up to find the next possible clue or suspect that gives him the answers he needs. 

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Yuuri says, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“About the case or about Celestino or about my cooking?”

Yuuri looks down at the plate of food that Victor _says_ is pasta, but looks like a heap of burnt sludge that can hold his fork upright. He gives a little laugh, crossing his legs.

“I’d say it’s fifteen percent cooking, fifteen percent case and seventy percent Celestino,” Yuuri explains. Victor tosses his mess of dinner down the garbage disposal, wiping his hands together as he approaches Yuuri sitting on the couch. He gets down on the floor in front of him, bracing his hands behind him.

“What are you thinking about?” Victor asks. Yuuri twiddles his thumb, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Well, I was thinking that. . .if I were Superman and I needed to rescue Lois Lane from the clutches of peril, and in my superhero good-doing, I kill an innocent bystander that happened to be watching from the city below, how would I feel?”

“So you’re Superman now?” Victor asks with a wry smile. Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do you rescue Lois Lane?”

“Yes.”

“So how would you feel?” Victor asks. Yuuri puffs his cheek, lounging on the couch and nestling up against Makkachin comfortably curled up next to a pillow.

“Well, at first I would feel happy that Lois is alive. Then I’ll feel bad that the unnamed civilian got killed. Then happy that I saved the day at least. But then there would be a nagging thought in the back of my mind that would keep me awake at night until I eventually think about it too much and I start to feel terrible again,” Yuuri says with a huff. He looks over at Victor, running a hand through Makkachin’s fur. “Did you feel bad? Like at all?”

Victor rubs his forehead and runs his hand backwards through his hair.

“Of course I felt bad. I don’t _want_ you to think I’m a killer and I didn’t want to hurt anyone. . .but to be honest. . .I’d do it again,” Victor admits. He sees the Yuuri’s eyebrow quirk in confusion, so Victor runs his tongue over his bottom lip and decides to continue.

“I. . .I made the choice to keep you alive and I would do it again. Even if you put me on an endless loop where I would be faced with the choice of keeping you alive and letting someone else die. . .I’d always make the same choice. I know that doesn’t make me Superman or Batman or any other good-doing hero by putting their wants before the greater good of others, and I’m sorry that I’m not the same as I was when we were younger and my choices didn't have such grave consequences. . .but I’m not sorry that you’re alive and back in my life.”

Yuuri swallows, lips pursed tight together not in a frown or a grimace. It’s neutral and ponders Victor’s words, taking in the information with soft eyes and a quiet sigh.

“Well. . .I’m glad you’re honest about it,” Yuuri says after a beat of silence.

“. . .Do you forgive me?” Victor asks and Yuuri shrugs.

“I don’t know. . .I don’t like the circumstances of how I got this life back, but I can’t say that I wish you never did it because I _want_ to be here with you. Plus, I feel kinda bad that I’m glad that you did it on purpose and I wasn’t just some accidental burden that fell into your lap. So. . .maybe this is my roundabout way of saying that I forgive you because I’m also not sorry that you’re back in my life.”

A smile etches across Victor’s lips. “I’ll take any forgiveness I can get,” he says and Yuuri gives a quiet laugh.

“. . .You don’t have to be Superman or Batman, you know. You can just be ‘Victor’.”

“I’m not the same ‘Victor’ from when we were kids though,” Victor repeats and Yuuri hums.

“And I’m not the same ‘Yuuri’. . .maybe we should just try and have a clean slate then. Get to know the new Victor and Yuuri. . .like a first date,” Yuuri suggests. Victor eyes the plate of ruined dinner that Makkachin is considering tipping over onto the floor so his nose won’t be anywhere near it.

“Well, this is a crappy first date so far,” Victor says with the tips of his ears growing warm in embarrassment. Yuuri hums, thinking in silence for a moment, then abruptly sits upwards.

“I know a place.”

 

* * *

 

One hour, twenty-five minutes and ten seconds later they arrive in the place that in Yuuri’s opinion, is the ideal venue for a first date with his Victor.

“It’s still closed,” Victor says, gesturing to the notice of the photoshoot on the doors of Ice Castle. Makkachin barks in agreement, sitting at Yuuri’s side. The piemaker looks around nervously for anyone to spot them trespassing, pulling his coat in tighter as the night chill creeps up his spine in a most unpleasant sensation.

“Well, we’re not going in through the front,” Yuuri says. He gives his thigh a little pat and Makkachin perks up with a happy little wag of his tail, following behind Yuuri while Victor follows. The figure skater circles around the building toward a side door with a topiary garden underneath. Yuuri jiggles the doorknob and hums, then climbs up onto the topiary garden.

“Are we breaking and entering right now?” Victor asks and Yuuri runs his fingertips along the side of the window. He gets his fingers underneath a loose part and pulls it open. He braces his foot on the wall and pushes forward, shimmying inside with a cute wiggle of his hips.

Victor just stares and watches as Yuuri’s body disappears inside the room and wonders if he’s supposed to follow suit. He’s twenty-seven, he’s not as spry and flexible as he used to be. It’s not like Yuuri can help him up through the window either.

Victor awkwardly shuffles from left to right, checking over his shoulder for someone but not sure just _who_ he needs to be looking out for. In less than a minute, the door in front of him swings open and Yuuri’s head peaks out.

“Come on,” he urges and Makkachin takes the lead, rushing inside. Victor hurries inside as well, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat as he tries to be mindful of the space between him and Yuuri. Yuuri closed the door shut behind them, turning to Victor with a little smile as he looks around the interior of Ice Castle’s hallway that leads towards the main lobby.

“It brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Yuuri asks and Victor gives a little chuckle, running his fingertips along the outside of a water fountain and feeling the indents of his name scratched into the metal.

“Yeah. . .how did you know you could get in through the window?” Victor questions with a raised eyebrow. Yuuri brushes a lock of hair behind his ear, suddenly growing shy.

“Well. . .I knew someone that always snuck in here through the window and. . .I just figured that they must have not fixed it yet so I gave it a try,” Yuuri says and rocks back and forward on his heels. “Trust me, I didn’t turn into a delinquent when you left,” Yuuri explains and Victor chuckles.

“You mean you didn’t go through the stereotypical ‘teenage rebellion, this is who I am’ stage?” Victor asks and Yuuri shakes his head with a little laugh.

“More like the person that was a constant worrywart and voice of reason as he watched his friends go through the stereotypical ‘teenage rebellion, this is who I am’ stage,” Yuuri admits as they enter the lobby. His eyes immediately go to the memorial underneath the bulletin board, filled with pictures of him and flowers and stuffed pigs. Yuuri wraps arms around himself.

“It’s really surreal,” he murmurs, looking at a picture surrounded by lit candles. He gets down to his knees and picks up a stuffed pig plushie into his hands, pinching its snout. “I used to always hate being called ‘Piggy’ when I was younger. My stress eating really took a turn for the worse when you left, and that was all people called me until I started losing weight again from skating,” Yuuri says with a disappointed sigh. Victor is mindful of the distance as he takes a knee next to Yuuri, looking over the memorial as well.

“Were you as great of a skater as I knew you would be?” Victor asks and Yuuri clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a shy smile.

“I don’t think I was _great_. I’m just another dime-a-dozen figure skater. Apparently, all I had going for me was my looks anyways. You don’t hear in the news about ‘Runner-up to the Nationals Yuuri Katsuki’ or ‘two-time gold medalist Yuuri Katsuki’ or ‘longtime resident of Ice Castle Yuuri Katsuki’. All you hear is ‘Ice Prince’ or ‘beautiful skater Yuuri Katsuki’. Not even Morooka could name a program of mine he liked, but he could talk for days about how I look,” Yuuri says with a huff and squeezes the pig plushie against his chest. “I’m not even beautiful. I drool in my sleep and have stretch marks around my thighs and I wear these dorky glasses because without them, everything looks like one big blur.”

Victor laughs. “But you _are_ beautiful,” Victor says and Yuuri hums.

“You’re just saying that because I’m your childhood crush.”

“I thought you were amazing then and you’re still amazing now. You’ve shaped into the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Yuuri tucks his burning face into the round belly of the pig plushie. “You must not see a lot of people then,” he says into the fabric. Victor shakes his head, plucking a rose that rests underneath a picture of Yuuri smiling with three young girls in between his fingers.

“I didn’t see a lot of people when it came to love. I’ve had people approach me, went on a few dates, but they always fell through in the end. Probably because I had my mind elsewhere and weren’t thinking about them like a lover should,” Victor mumbles.

“I went on dates too. They were okay. Some guys were really nice, and other weren’t a lot of fun, but I probably was a reason why the relationship didn’t work out either,” Yuuri says. He tucks his knees up to his chest and sighs. “I had my mind elsewhere too. . .hey, um-” Yuuri bites his lower lip, looking over at Victor through hooded eyelids and a blush spreads over his cheeks. “I. . .I-um. . .I’m. . .I didn’t die a virgin. . .just so you know.”

Victor blinks, letting that information process as he watches red fill Yuuri’s face up to the tips of his ears. Makkachin nuzzles against Yuuri’s side and into his lap, so Yuuri can distract himself from Victor’s gaze by rubbing Makkachin’s back. Victor bites the inside of his cheek and turns to look at one of Yuuri’s photos.

“. . .I’m not mad-”

“Just in case it might be a deal-breaker or something. I-I mean, I still love you. You don’t forget your first love, but, I – well it’s – um – and the thing is –” Yuuri huffs and groans into the scruff of Makkachin’s neck.

“Yuuri, I’m not mad, honest,” Victor says, voice calm and sincere. What point would there be to be upset over something like this? Victor is the one who disappeared out of Yuuri’s life, and every time he thought of going back and reuniting with the skater, the guilt of what happened to Yuuri’s father ate away at his conscience and kept him rooted where he stood. He’s glad that Yuuri’s life moved on, that even with the few experiences of ‘teenage rebellion, this is who I am’ that Yuuri witnessed, he had friends to share it with.

Victor scratches the back of his head. “If we’re going to be honest about that. . .I’m not a virgin either. . .it’s probably for the better that we’ve experienced it before we reunited, otherwise this will be pretty sad,” Victor says with a weak chuckle to try and lighten the mood. Yuuri still has his face in Makkachin’s fur, ears no longer burning red but now a light dusting hue of rose.

They sit in silence for a minute or so before Yuuri quietly pipes up, “Um. . .did you like it?”

Victor laughs. “Well, I mean, the guy was okay. It wasn’t his first time, but he finished way too quick, which kind of sucked now that I think about it because he was acting like it was the best sex ever and he was some _god_ while I was still trying to get myself off. I can’t say it was a good experience, since he had this bearskin rug on the floor of his bedroom and well, I was walking barefoot and-" 

“ _No_ ,” Yuuri gasps, before he breaks out into a fit of giggles. “That must have been _really bad_. Did it actually-”

“I mean, _luckily_ it didn’t bite him. But he still got freaked out and I had to distance myself from him _immediately_. I wonder if he still has it. It would make for a great drunk story,” Victor muses with a crooked grin. Yuuri sighs, resting his chin on his folded arms.

“My first time was when I was seventeen and it was the most uneventful thing ever,” Yuuri says with a small laugh. “We were both virgins so it was already super awkward, and we were trying to Google stuff as we were doing it. Like, if it started to hurt for me – which it did – we’d stop, ask Google, apply the necessary changes, and keep going. And to make it even more awkward, once we were done we _thanked_ each other. Like, _who does that?_ ”

Yuuri drops his face now into his hands and groans. “I was such a dork. I still _am_ a dork,” Yuuri whines.

“You’re a _cute_ dork if it makes you feel better,” Victor says and Yuuri peeks an eye out through his fingertips.

“A little,” he says and drops his hands back down to rub Makkachin’s stomach.

Victor chuckles and turns to look back at Yuuri’s memorial, humming to himself. “This is still a weird first date,” he comments as he watches a candle flicker and the wax around it melt.

“Yeah, it’s pretty morbid, huh?” Yuuri says, glancing to the check-in desk. “Um, we can try and get some skates? Maybe go around the rink a couple of times?” Yuuri suggests. Victor shakes his head from side to side, smiling.

“No, we don’t have to. I mean, I’m fine just sitting here and talking with you like this. It shouldn't be that much of a surprise that our dates are going to be weird,” Victor says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, I’m a pie maker that wakes the dead and you’re a figure skater that got brought back to life. We’re a weird couple already.”

Yuuri hums. “A couple. . .” he repeats, voice nothing more than a whisper. Victor feels a sudden flush of heat rise from his belly to his face, and he awkwardly turns back to the memorial, twiddling his thumbs. A few more minutes pass with them watching the candelight flicker over Yuuri’s photos and the fresh cut flowers surrounding the area. It’s funny; he expected for some of these plants to be dead by now since it’s not like they’re sitting in water. But they still look freshly bought and brand new, as if someone-

. . .Wait.

Victor reaches for a bouquet of flowers to take in his hand, bringing them up to his nose to inhale their scent. Yuuri quirks an eyebrow at him as Victor brings them away from his face and stares at them, absolutely puzzled. “Something wrong?” Yuuri asks and Victor shakes his head.

“Just. . .these flowers seem too new, don’t they? If Morooka said that Ice Castle has been closed for four days currently after your death, shouldn’t there be _some_ wilting?” Victor asks, turning his attention down to the flowers in his hand and running his fingers along the petals. He doesn’t see the familiar spark of his gift bring the flowers back to life nor the zap of the flowers dying in his hands. These flowers are as alive and fresh as can be, but that can’t be possible.

“So. . .maybe it could be a custodian that comes in to clean up and got rid of the old flowers?” Yuuri says and Victor shakes his head.

“Then where did these new ones come from? Despite you being kind and lovely, I don’t think a random stranger would leave this many flowers after cleaning up the old ones,” Victor explains.

There’s only one explanation that makes sense, and that is someone must have been here recently.

Makkachin suddenly shoots up from Yuuri’s lap and starts barking loud at something behind the two of them. Victor turns wide, eyes locking with a figure that stands with a bouquet of flowers at their feet and a baseball bat raised above their heads to crush in. But the figure doesn’t immediately bring the bat that’s trembling in their hold down to swing. Their eyes shift to Victor’s right, to _Yuuri_ , and they stiffen.

“. . .Y-Yuuri?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm i THINK we're at the halfway point


End file.
